


Syzygy

by marshmallowsweetheart, WoozleBucket



Series: Hookerverse [1]
Category: Sugar Pine 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Blood, Death, Guns, M/M, Slow Burn, and yes we can kill parker andie, eventual OT3, gta au with everything being part of a growing criminal empire entails basically, no wooz I'm not killing parker, not as slow burn as it could be but I'm proud of it, sex work mentions, we can but we're NOT you absolute heathen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-17 02:33:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12355665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowsweetheart/pseuds/marshmallowsweetheart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoozleBucket/pseuds/WoozleBucket
Summary: Steven Suptic is a hooker, and has been for almost a year. He doesn't think anyone or anything can phase him by now--at least, not until a man in a headband takes him home to watch the Hannah Montana movie. Then, suddenly, he's running an ever-growing startup crew, living with the kind of people he never thought he'd even meet, and realizing that, just maybe, it's okay to want more than he's had.





	1. Fernweh

Steven first meets Cib in a seedy bar in the middle of Los Santos. 

He’s _really_ done up that night, more than usual, had scraped together enough money for a black shirt that’s only had one other owner and slicked his hair back with borrowed gel. Made himself all coy grins and dumb conversation that suggested he was waiting for someone smarter than he was to come along, to sweep him away to some shitty motel room.

No one ever does and probably no one ever will. No one smarter than he is--no one even half as smart as he is--takes out some hooker batting their eyes across the bar at every rich-looking stranger doing shots. 

When he first sees a dishevelled looking man with a headband on, he ignores him. He’s not the type who’d pay for anything more than a Corona or shot of tequila, and one of the men he’s working on, some Russian blonde, is having a very interesting conversation about a deal with Fakehaus that he assumes Steven doesn’t understand. 

(He’s used to that. To these people he’s an object--something you use and are done with, something that can be in your lap and still go completely unnoticed. It’s not weird anymore, that the group he used to be part of is now foreign to him, and he’s used to how pathetic it feels to have accepted that as his reality.) 

He changes his mind very quickly when he sees $400 and a wink in his direction. 

It isn’t hard to excuse himself. Some other hooker will take his place and he doubts anyone but himself and the new one will notice. It’s easy to weave his way through the crowd, sliding up to the man and whispering a sultry ‘your place?’ in his ear. The leave together, and in the sudden quiet of the street the stranger begins to speak. 

“My name’s Cib,” he says, and Steven purrs his approval on autopilot. He doesn’t recoil at the fact that his voice sounds like it isn’t really his the way he used to. He’s played this game before, knows to deflect the question about his own name and let Cib lead him down the road and then upstairs to-- 

A nice apartment. 

A _very_ nice apartment, and really it’s pathetic that his standards are this low but they are. Not a penthouse, but the kind Steven would live in if he could afford more than a furnace room in the basement of some complex meant for people much wealthier than he was. The kind he used to live in. The floor is stained wood and the ceiling isn’t leaking and the window shuts all the way. 

It’s the kind of thing he’d be jealous of if he let himself feel that way anymore. He shakes himself back to the present, back to the reality of what he’s here to do. Somehow, it never really gets better. It’s easier, but only because he’s learning how to push it further and further away.

“So, what did you have in mind?” He’s not sure where the bedroom is, but given that Cib is heading towards the couch that doesn’t look like it’ll be a problem. “Did you want something small, or a night, or….” He trails off when he sees Cib pulling a movie off of a small shelf next to the TV. “Is that…?” 

“ _The Hannah Montana movie_. A tragedy.” And something about the way he says this, like it’s a fact and not at all weird for a grown man in Los Santos to invite a hooker over and then watch the Hannah Montana movie, makes something in Steven shift. Something cynical, just a little. Just enough to notice that when he goes back to the street he’ll have to shift it back. 

(It’s not charm, the fact that someone wants to watch a movie with him first, because to be charmed by that would be pathetic.) 

_God, this is probably just some kink_ , he thinks, and reality sets back in with the familiar drowning of an additional piece of hope he didn’t even know he still had. 

“I charge by the hour. Just so you know.” His voice sounds flat, even to himself, and he winces internally and braces himself for the consequences. 

They don’t come. Cib says ‘okay’, offers him the couch, offers him a blanket and then starts popping popcorn in the kitchenette. 

He doesn’t relax once through the movie. Cib seems genuinely interested in it, but at one point he moves his arm across the back of the couch and Steven knows, he knows that this is when it begins, and so close he can smell cigarette tar and sweat and Old Spice and the combination is sickening--

Cib’s arm stays on the couch. It doesn’t leave until the movie is over and he gets up to take the disc out. And then, in a sort of non-sequitur way that Steven barely understands, he thinks Cib offers him the guest room. 

And then he goes to bed. 

Steven takes the offer of the guest bed, after trying to figure out what happened for half an hour in the kitchen. It’s late, and cold, and his own bed is neither warm nor close. He doesn’t sleep--just lies on the bed, awake and confused, the entire night. 

***

Cib seems delighted that he stayed. Steven had waited until he heard someone moving in the apartment before getting up in the same clothes he put on for last night and following a trail of objects slightly misplaced to the kitchen. It very quickly becomes obvious that, whoever and whatever else he is, Cib is not a morning person, and Steven takes the offered cup of coffee before sitting on the edge of a dining chair and waiting for him to say something. 

“So,” Cib says, “How good are you with your mouth?” 

Steven is simultaneously shocked and unsurprised. It always gets to this point--it just usually doesn’t take so long, isn’t predated by gentle treatment. Whatever he is, this is territory he’s familiar with, more so than watching a movie on the couch. If he let himself care, he might have thought that was a little bit pitiful. 

“Depends on what you want it to do,” he says, setting the coffee aside and shaking off the confusion at this whole setup. 

“Sweet talk.” Cib tilts his head, the same expression on his face as the night before, curious but certain. The request is unusual, but no more so than the rest of the encounter. Some men just want that. He’s been paid for far less than a chat.

“Well,” Steven says, putting his cheek in his hand and softening his features, “that depends on who you ask. Want to see for yourself?” He scoots his chair a little closer to Cib’s, not enough that they’re touching but close enough that the distance between their faces is charged with something. 

“I do,” he smiles, clicking his tongue once before standing abruptly, and it’s startling. “One of my guys, see, he keeps fucking shit up. Not selling anything. Something about how vapes aren’t drugs, which is fucking dumb ‘cause nicotine!” 

In what seems to be a common theme in his interactions with Cib, Steven is confused. 

“I--do you want me to...seduce him into cooperating with you?” He’s done that, too, and he’d worked for a crime boss of some degree multiple times, but…. “Usually people are more…up front about that.”

“You do whatever works best,” Cib shrugs. “I mean, he’s the straightest dude I know. Has like five wifes or something. Thirty kids, ten dogs and a parakeet.” 

“Alright, A, it’s ‘wives’,” Steven says, before he can catch himself. He cringes, waits for the reaction that again doesn’t come, before continuing cautiously. “And B, if he’s straight, and you need sweet talk...why find a male hooker? What am I doing here?”

Cib looks somewhat shocked. “You’re a hooker? I thought you were one of those dudes who, like, talked a bunch. Like in the movies!” 

Steven doesn’t bother asking which movies. If last night was any indication, he isn’t sure he’d want to know. 

As soon as he’s done with this, he’s going to find a very rich man who will buy him a very stiff drink. 

“Yes, I’m a hooker, Jesus, why else would I ask to go to your place after you flashed a couple twenties?” 

“I don’t know, idiot, why did you?” Cib asks. Steven fights back a sigh, feeling the headache coming already. 

“Because I’m--screw it, jesus. I’ll take the job. It’ll be better than hanging out in some club.” And quite honestly, he’s terrifying himself, because he hasn’t been this brazen with a client since his first few weeks, but something about Cib makes him feel like he can. Like he won’t care, or even...like Cib wants him to be, which, ew, but it'll get him paid. He leans back in the chair, pushes down that thought and scrubs his hands across his face, weaving himself back into the mask of indifference. “When?”

Cib glances at his wrist. Watchless. “Uh…” Another sigh. 

“What am I getting paid?”

“I dunno, half of what I’m supposed to be getting from this guy’s next sale? If he does it.”

God, this is a mess. 

_A mess that’s getting you a guest room in an apartment with heat_ , a voice somewhere in the back of his mind says as Cib writes down a name and address, and he hates that he has to agree. 

“I’ll do it,” Steven says. “I’ll be back when I have.” And then he takes the info and he leaves, pulling his coat on and bracing himself for the harsh January cold.

“Have what?” Cib asks. He doesn’t stop to answer, leaving the apartment only to lean for a moment on the closed door, shaking his head for a moment before realizing he’s fighting a smile. However annoying he is, something about Cib is….interesting. Something about Cib makes him feel a little more open than before.

Steven wouldn’t mind, he discovers, seeing him again. 

 

***

It’s been a month, and Steven is living with Cib. 

The first job had turned into another, and another, and Cib kept telling him to stay in the guest room “ _so we can talk, dude, about life_ ”, and when after two weeks Steven had tentatively asked if Cib wanted him to move in, Cib had just cocked his head and said “ _you haven’t?_ ”

So he’d told his landlord he was leaving, gathered what little he had, his phone and charger and a bag of outfits he didn’t ever want to wear again, and moved it into Cib’s guest room. Which he guessed was now his room. 

Living with Cib felt a lot like living with a small child. Most of the time, the things he said didn’t make sense. He seemed to have trouble doing really much of anything with the degree of competency required to live by yourself. Most of the activities he enjoyed were juvenile on some level. He was the kind of person that, in better circumstances, Steven would never have even known existed. 

Still.

Something about him was charming, in a way. He’d consider him nice if he didn’t know better. Cib’s annoying, but gentle, and always is trying to help, even if it isn’t readily apparent. It was disgusting, how low Steven’s standards were, how easy it was to make him feel safe, to give him some ghost of feeling wanted for more than just cheap sex, but really anything was safer than before. Anything was better than before, because--

It’s been a month, and Steven hasn’t done any sex work. 

Cib’s jobs, if nonsensical, are limitless, and they pay well enough that when Steven’s paid his portion of rent and groceries, he has something left over. It’s not much, but it’s the first time he’s had that in a long time, and that’s enough to make him consider this as a long-term thing, something he can live off of until he's got enough to live for real. Something that can get him out of the gutter he’s been stuck in. 

With Cib, for some reason he can’t explain, he feels safe. He feels clean in a way that he hasn’t since he before he met with his first client, since he left him filthy and used and abandoned.

It’s too good to last, and he knows it. One day Cib’s going to stop giving him jobs, to tell him he’s done, and then Steven will move out and back into wherever he’d been but with a little more in savings. He can pretend, until then. He needs to.

***

The job seems routine. He’s going to shake down a potential buyer, someone with means of distribution but not acquisition. Steven’s done it before. But when he arrives he recognizes the buyer and from the hungry look in his eyes Steven knows that he’s been recognized, too-- 

It’s not the first time Steven’s come back with a black eye, but it is since living with Cib, and usually there isn’t an accompanying hickey, and usually it’s from a fist and not a pistol and it hurts. 

He opens the door, debates going to his bedroom to avoid Cib finding out, and when did he start calling it his and since when was he afraid of what Cib found out? 

The decision is made for him anyway, because Cib was waiting in the kitchen and can see him from here, and Steven can see the surprise cross his face, unguarded. 

“Dude, you’re hurt, the fuck?” 

Steven doesn’t reply, only goes to collapse on the couch and tilt his head back and press his sleeve to the cut that’s dripping blood down his cheek. He hears Cib moving around in the kitchen before his footsteps come closer and there’s something cold on his face. 

“Come on, I’m gonna kiss it better--” And Cib’s leaning in towards his eye, for some reason, and he says _ew, gross_ , and pushes him away--

\--and then he doesn’t, because Cib has stopped, something dark flashing in his eyes. 

Steven drops his hands. He can feel himself stiffening, he shouldn’t have pushed him away, he was trying to help and it’s not his place-- 

“You’re bleeding,” is all Cib says, and Steven realizes that he’d moved his hand from the cut. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little bit stunned, and Cib doesn’t reply, just leaves for a moment and comes back with a first aid kit from the bathroom. 

He doesn’t ask, which is good because Steven doesn’t want to tell him, and his hands are surprisingly gentle even if Steven had to convince him not to wash the cut with spit. 

When he’s done, Steven goes to lie down with the ice pack Cib had brought him. It’s cold, but he almost doesn’t feel it, because Cib’s hands were warm and their memory still brushes across his skin. He thinks about that for a long time, that night. Thinks about Cib. Thinks about why he’s thinking about Cib. 

He doesn’t hear the buyer’s name again.

***

“All I’m saying is, we need the real deal, a warrior, someone who can blow those fatty c--” 

“I agreed until that last part.” Steven sighs, pushing his chair away from the table and scrubbing his face with hands. “Who did you have in mind?” 

Cib blows a stream of artificially cinnamon-scented smoke at him, smiling. “Glad you asked.” 

It’s been a week since the incident with his old client, and Steven’s black eye is healing at what he assumes is the average rate to heal from being pistol whipped. He wasn’t worried about it, had always known he couldn’t handle violence, but Cib….. 

Cib had decided they needed someone who could, for whatever reason. Steven couldn’t say he was wrong, with this and all the jobs he’d been unwilling or unable to do--and that was one of the things he liked, that when he couldn’t, he didn’t have to--but his reluctance and Cib’s total and obvious inability to defend himself left anything even remotely involving intimidation out of the picture. 

“He wants to meet us in a bar,” Cib is saying, “in Waterside.” Two red flags already. No one goes to Waterside, not if they could help it. It’s home to too many desperate new gangs and the shady kind of narcotics dealers. Something about meeting in a bar, too, surrounded by people just like them, just like _Steven_ , has him on edge. He thinks for a moment. He doesn’t like this, but Cib is right. They need this guy, whoever he is.

“When?” he says, because he has no sense and knows that Cib will take this as agreeing. Sure enough, his smile stretches even wider, and he takes another drag on the vape and looks at his bare wrist before answering. 

“Uh, ten minutes ago?” 

“Ten--what the hell have we been doing, jesus, let’s go,” Steven stands, not waiting for Cib before leaving. He’s down the stairs at the front of the building by the time Cib catches up and he tells him the name of the bar and all through the train ride there Steven can’t shake the feeling that something’s going to go wrong. 

When they arrive at the bar, it’s exactly the kind of dark, seedy place that he knew they’d find in Waterside, with a glowing neon sign and no windows to the outside world. He’s worked here, and he knows there’s a back alley with a door from the kitchen, and this street will take him to a subway station three blocks down-- 

He’s already planning escape routes, Steven realizes, and shakes himself before following Cib inside. 

It’s dimly lit and crowded, but Cib seems to know where he’s going, so he follows him and tries to ignore the smell of alcohol and vomit and the fact that there’s Casey in the corner and Max working the bar like he used to and this doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel right. 

Cib sits, and he follows before looking up at whoever it is they’re meeting, and-- 

Oh. 

He’s strong looking. Intimidating. The smallest bit familiar. The thin glasses resting on his face do nothing to obscure the strange look in his eyes when he sees Steven, and suddenly Steven can’t miss that he’s sitting in a bar he used to work with the type of man who’d pick him up and he really, really doesn’t want to be here. He may recognize him from somewhere, but if he does it’s from long before, and to get to long before he has to go through immediately before and that’s not the kind of thing he wants to do. Not here.

Cib and the stanger are saying something, something he can’t focus on, he thinks that he’s listing qualifications and something about a water warrior. He spaces out, not entirely on purpose, until Cib turns to him, smiling. They wait for a second, until Cib begins to speak again, and, oh, they’d asked him something, Cib had asked if that was enough for him. They must have been talking for a while, then.

“I--yeah. That, uh, yeah! Fine! It, uh, seems fine.” He keeps the waver out of his voice, not wanting to say yes but not wanting to say no and keenly aware of the person sitting across the table waiting for an answer.

Cib is saying something again and shaking the stranger’s hand--he thought he heard James, at some point--but all he can think about are the split scars on James’ knuckles, the marks of a fistfighter and the muscles to match. For the first time, he’s grateful that Cib’s business screenings and interviews are so informal--the sooner he gets out of there, the better. 

Cib is standing, and James is standing, so Steven stands, and the moment it looks like they’re done he grabs Cib’s forearm and pulls him to the door. 

The air outside isn’t fresh but it seems to pull him out of the daze he’d been in, everything sharpening so intensely that it seems surreal. Neither of them say anything until they’re halfway back to the apartment, and then it’s Cib who speaks first. 

“I think he’ll work. Real Demosthenes figure, ya know?” 

And to distract himself from the fact that James is now in a crew with him, Steven replies, “Do you even know who that is?” 

“Who who is?” And it makes sense that Cib forgets, with nothing in his head terrifying enough that he might need it later, and Steven wishes with a sharp pang that he could be as carefree. 

*** 

James has been doing jobs for the crew for a while now, and Steven’s been limiting his exposure as much as possible. It’s easy sometimes, given how little their jobs intersect, but he’d accepted this one before Cib told him that he’d need a bodyguard--worrying on its own--and then that said bodyguard would be James. 

The job itself goes smoothly enough. Steven can admit that it’s better with James standing behind him. The other guy’s guards are too scared to try anything, and he just wishes that he wasn’t feeling the same way.

They finish with the buyer. Steven signs a contract and they leave. James is coming back to the apartment to update Cib, and to receive payment, and that means he’s walking with Steven the entire way. 

“So. Cib,” James says, breaking the silence between them once they’re about a third of the way back.

“Cib,” Steven agrees, though he’s not sure with what.

“Isn’t he a little…” James doesn’t elaborate, just makes a little hand motion and looks at Steven. 

“Yeah.” James seems to be waiting for something with more than one syllable, and the thought of irritating James sends a pang of fear through his chest. “I don’t know how he managed before me.” And at this, James seems surprised. 

“Wait, he’s the boss? I thought you were behind all,” James gestures between himself and Steven. “this.” 

There’s a concept. Steven supposes that technically, he is, if how often he helped Cib just manage the operation counted for anything. 

(He ignores how flattering it is, that a man like James had unquestioningly believed that Steven could run something like this. He can, of course, but it’s been a long, long time since anyone’s acknowledged it, and longer since that someone wasn’t another whore. He tells himself it’s only because there’s no way Cib would be able to, and moves on.)

“No. He hired me. Worst decision of my life.” Steven’s voice sounds flat, even to himself, and after a moment he decides that’s good. The less James knows about him, the better, and he seems satisfied, so there’s no reason to give him anything else.

“Weird. So how’d you meet him?” 

And Steven stops walking for a moment, stiffens. 

He hadn’t thought it would be so hard to answer that question. It may not have been, to anyone else. Back when he was working it was easy to call himself a hooker, a manwhore, a paid slut. A sex worker, to more dignified company. Cib knew, and was okay with it. But something about telling James made him feel...scared. Shameful. Dirty. Like there was some hole he was supposed to fit into that he wasn’t the right shape for.

“He kidnapped me and made me watch the Hannah Montana movie,” he says instead, continuing to walk as if he had never stopped, and James waits for a moment to take this in before following. 

“That movie is literally the worst,” he says, unquestioning, and Steven is grateful that he’s managed to surround himself with people who don’t need anything to make sense.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” he says, and then they’ve reached the apartment, and Steven unlocks the door, ready to retreat to his room and be somewhere that James isn’t for a little while. 

Cib, of course, intercepts him before he has the chance. 

“Steve, dude, you can’t leave, it’s movie night!” 

And he sighs, because there’s literally no way to say no to Cib. He takes any answer as a yes, and won’t stop pestering until you keep your word. 

“We aren’t watching the Hannah Montana movie again.” 

And Cib pouts but accepts, pulling a different Blu-Ray off the shelf.

“‘Course not. It’s romance night, idiot! _Schindler’s List,_ ” he says, and Steven believes himself to be largely past the point of questioning Cib but this requires some explanation. 

And then.

“ _Schindler's List_ , I love that movie!” James pipes up, and Cib smiles that pleading way of his that’s really just smug and drags Steven to the couch. James follows, thankfully sitting on the other side of Cib, and as the movie starts Cib leans on Steven and for the first time in weeks all Steven wants is for him to get off. 

About fifteen minutes into the movie, it begins. 

“And here we see the dignified Osk-Oyster Spindle, drafting his grocery list…” With the soft yet somehow loud voice reminiscent of an Animal Planet narrator, Cib begins his commentary. Steven’s used to it--Cib does this for every movie--but James is either weirdly invested in _Schindler’s List_ or really hates people talking during movies, because he speaks up quickly. 

“Shut up, dude, I’m trying to watch,” he says, and Steven can tell from the look Cib gives him that James is only fueling the fire. He’s reminded of a sibling pair he saw coming back to his old apartment one morning, neither of them making sense but neither of them trying, only wanting to win some imagined victory over the other. Cib continues, louder this time.

“What is it, dude? You don’t like Slinkey’s list?” 

“Swear to God, man,” and this is the point where Steven would intervene except that James is looking increasingly annoyed and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he doesn’t want to be in the middle when Cib pushes too far. 

Cib ignores James, looking back at the movie. 

“The young Oscar has realized that he must fire all the jorts from his factory--” 

He’s cut off by James tackling him to the floor, one hand around his neck, straddling his waist. Steven backs up instinctually, wanting to run but scared to get off the couch because James and Cib are right there and suddenly he’s reminded of the very beginning-- 

_\--“Take that, you little twink,” says the man twice his size, one hand around Max’s neck and pushing, squeezing tight and he’s gasping--_

Cib wrestles with James for a moment, and the rational part of his brain can tell there’s no pressure, Cib can breathe and he’s even laughing, asking something about water warriors and choking technique and why is choking technique even a thing people have--

_\--and he should be helping, he should be saving him but he can’t, he’s scared, he’s so scared of losing Max, losing the money, being hurt if he intervenes and he’s frozen to the spot--_

“--even!” Cib is saying his name and he notices that he and James have stopped, that they’re looking up at him with concern instead of wrestling on the floor. 

James has pulled away, with an expression Steven can’t quite recognize, and he’s got his hands up with his palms facing Steven. Cib’s propped himself up on one elbow, the same expression, and suddenly it’s very clear that they’ve seen too much, that Steven’s shown them too much, and he hits himself internally. 

Cib opens his mouth to speak. He’s not smiling anymore.

“I’m going to bed,” Steven interrupts, voice barely a whisper. He clears his throat, tries again. “It was--um. A long day.” He steps over them both before trying to walk as casually as he can to the bedroom, giving up the moment he’s out of sight. 

He locks his door, doesn’t respond when someone knocks. It could be James or Cib and he doesn’t want to talk to either of them. 

*** 

He doesn’t want to talk to them for the next two days, actually, so he avoids them. If they see each other they’ll talk and if they talk they’ll inevitably ask questions and he doesn’t want to answer them so the best way to avoid that is to avoid them. 

It works, until Cib remembers that Steven lives in his apartment, and that he’s got a spare key to the room. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

“Don’t come in,” Steven says, knowing it works less and less every time he has to say so. 

“It’s James,” James says from outside, and that startles him into silence for a moment. 

“Double don’t come in.” 

He hears a sigh, and suddenly the door’s unlocked and swinging open and James is in the only safe place he’s had in months. 

He feels guilty. Exposed. Dirty. Scared. It’s like some hellish cocktail of everything he’s been trying to put off. He pushes all that away, flattens his voice and his expression.

“God, you’re annoying. What do you want?” he huffs, ignoring James’ frustrated sigh and the fact that his own hands are shaking, and turns back to the computer. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

“I’m not mad at you, jeez,” he says before he can stop himself. He doesn’t know if it’s the truth or not, but he knows he doesn’t want James to be mad at him. James steps closer. 

“Then why are you avoiding us? Are you mad at Cib?” 

“I’m not mad at Cib and I’m not avoidin--” 

“Bullshit!” James cuts him off with a yell and Steven can’t stop himself from flinching away, covering his face and turning his head, because James is mad and this is what he didn’t want, he’s upset him, and there are consequences for that--

Nothing happens.

There’s silence as he remembers how to breathe, finds the courage to look back up. When he does, James’ face has softened considerably, and he wants to cry of both relief and humiliation. He doesn’t. 

“You’re scared of me,” James says, something indescribable in his voice, on his face, and there’s nothing Steven can do but look at the floor and nod. He hears the door shut, and when he looks back up, James is gone, the key to Steven’s room on the floor where he had been. 

“Good fucking riddance,” Steven mutters to himself, ignoring how his voice shakes, but he isn’t sure if he means it.

*** 

Steven expects things to have changed. When he leaves his room, absolutely more out of a boredom with avoidance than a dread for what happens if James comes to find him again, he finds James and Cib waiting in the kitchen and expects something. Anything.

It doesn’t come. 

“Steven!” Cib smiles, smoke pouring out of his mouth already. “You missed the vape-a-thon!” 

“I thought James didn’t vape,” Steven says, already taking the vape pen when it’s offered, and if his voice wavers when he says ‘James’, then neither of their faces betray it. James’ face doesn’t show much of anything, actually--no anger, pity, no indication that their encounter in his bedroom had ever happened. It’s a little eerie, but Steven’s thankful. At least it looks like he hasn’t told Cib. At least they’re on the same page. 

“Who said anything about James, dude?” Cib shoves the vape pen at him, and against his better judgment Steven takes a drag and immediately starts coughing. 

Cib laughs, and James doesn’t, just keeps looking at him with that blank face until he speaks.

“We’re ordering a pizza. What do you want on it?” James’ voice is as even as his face. It’s starting to be a little creepy, until Steven realizes that this is what he must sound like, when he’s not having panic attacks over playfighting. He doesn't want to answer, but they're both waiting. 

“Pineapple,” he says after a pause, coughing again and looking away. “And tomatoes?” It comes out as more of a question, and that doesn’t happen when he’s only talking to Cib but he can’t control it now. James, to his credit, only nods, dialing the number and moving to the corner of the kitchen where it’s quieter. 

And then Cib’s arm is around his shoulder, and under the guise of helping him straighten up he pulls him just a little closer than normal, and he still doesn’t ask and maybe never will. It’s not pity, or sympathy, or confusion. Steven can’t figure out what it is, and the only options he can think of scare him more than pity would, and so he says ‘gross’ and shoves him off, and when Cib turns to look at him, he doesn't hold eye contact a little longer than necessary.

He didn’t lean into it, when Cib had pulled him close, because, if he had, that means that whatever wall he’s been building so carefully has started to crumble, and he knows what happens when he lets those down.

Then James comes back over, and whatever unspoken conversation they were having ends in favor of moving to the couch to finish Schindler’s List or, in Cib and James’s case, to watch it again. There’s no narration this time, or at least a lot less, and when it happens James only shoves Cib lightly, and Steven doesn’t know what this is about but he can tell it’s for him. Something rises in him, something shamed and angry and humiliated, but a larger part pushes it down because there’s something warm there, too. Something that’s touched James would change for him. Something that says maybe he doesn’t have as much to fear as he thought. Something dumb, some annoying shred of hope that’s come back since Cib hired him, says that maybe they could be closer. Not now, not when he can barely look at James without remembering their conversation and immediately looking away. But maybe.

The end of the movie comes and it was good, but not as good as the fact that the lead weight in his chest seems to have been replaced with helium, and Cib’s fallen asleep on his shoulder again. When he shifts, so does Cib, grabbing his arm and gripping it tightly, and he sighs but can’t fight the small smile spreading on his face. 

Maybe it’s James. Maybe it’s the fact that Cib gave him the key to his room, and seems to be concerned even if he won’t ask. But that same thing that drew him to Cib on their first job seems to have intensified, expanded to James, and he doesn’t get it. Steven doesn’t understand what he wants, or what they want, or any of it.

That scares him, more than James ever could.

He leans back a little, looking behind Cib at James. He’s asleep, too, against the back of the couch. Something else mixes with the helium, something that’s…not quite fear, anymore. There’s caution, still, hesitation, but James seems to be making an effort for him, and something about even just that thought makes him a little less afraid. Makes him feel something warm.

He shoves it away. It isn’t important right now and, if Steven has any say, it never will be.

He leaves, then, as quickly as he can, pulling his arm out of Cib’s grasp with a quick jerk, but can’t stop himself from pulling out the blanket so that it covers them both. 

He goes to his room and for the first time, the empty bed feels cold instead of safe.


	2. Schwellenangst

Time passes like it always has, but James is around more often now. He doesn’t live in the apartment, there’s not room, but he sleeps there sometimes, on the couch, because Cib insists the same way he did for Steven. James is more of a morning person than either of them, but sometimes Steven doesn’t sleep, and when he goes out into the living room in the early morning just for something to do, James will usually be there, making breakfast or handing him a cup of coffee.

He’s been...gentler, Steven notices, and part of him resents the idea that he can’t handle aggression but another still wonders why James cares if he can. Why the idea that _Steven_ doesn’t like something might make _James_ decide to stop.

He’s noticed it in Cib, too. That when Steven tenses up, or seems uncomfortable, Cib will immediately go after whatever he thinks is making him feel that way. He blows smoke rings at people on the street who get a little too familiar, never touches anywhere lower than his chest or higher than his neck. Stops when it’s obvious Steven’s more than just annoyed.

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t want to let himself think he does and then have it be ripped away.  

Tomorrow they’ll be leaving, just the three of them, to a town called Idyllwild to meet with a potential seller. The crew’s grown far beyond the fragile business it was when Steven first joined, and he knows Cib’s been talking to one of James’ many contacts in hopes of expanding. Three people isn’t really enough anymore, not for the size of the territory they’re quickly beginning to control, and they’re hoping to gain a lot more than just clientele from the Idyllwild trip.

That’s what Steven should be focusing on, and what he would be if Cib hadn’t booked a single cabin for all three of them. James’ presence in his life isn’t unusual, but the knowledge that he’s got his own apartment, that there’s no space in Cib’s flat that’s truly his, separates him by a degree. When he wakes up, this time, he’ll know that James won’t be leaving for at least the few days they’re there, and something about that thought gives him the same feeling he’d gotten on the couch the day they’d let him pick the pizza toppings.

James had picked the pineapple off of his, and Steven knew Cib preferred supreme, but...neither of them had complained or asked for anything different. All this time at the apartment, from the moment Cib had locked eyes with him in the bar, no one had asked him to change. To be softer or harder, to be more emotional or less. To accept the things that he pushed away or to push away the things that he accepted.

At first he’d thought there was a catch. There always had been, before. He’d been so sure that something would give, sooner or later, and someone would finally reveal what he had to do to earn this, to deserve this, to keep this. He still felt that way to an extent, but even that didn’t feel real, like he was only holding onto it so there’d be at least one thing that hadn’t changed. So that he’d have an anchor to tie this flat, scared worldview to, and he wouldn’t forget why he’d adopted it in the first place. So that if something _did_ happen, he wouldn't be surprised. But more and more, he's starting to feel like nothing will, and he's not used to that kind of security.

Cib and James, for all their many, _many_ faults, treat him like they care about his wellbeing separate to their own, and Steven knows enough to know that it’s….more than wishful thinking. What he can’t figure out is why they want to, or even why he wants them to, after so long spent accepting that nothing would change. Men more attractive had been in his life, men who were nicer, men who at least were _normal_. He’d never been confused about what they wanted from him, or more importantly he'd never been confused about what _he_ wanted from _them_.

They’re going to Idyllwild tomorrow, and they’ll be sharing a house. Something about that feels terrifying but _right_ , and Steven rolls over in bed, pushing the thought away until he can figure out why.

***

Idyllwild starts out well. Idyllwild starts out _really_ well, because even if James takes forever to get ready and Cib tries to jump out of a moving vehicle multiple times, they make it there with time to spare before the deal. James takes Steven’s suitcase while Steven goes to talk to the landlady and get them the key to cottage Sugar Pine 7, and when he lets them in, Cib immediately finds the window to the roof, opens it up, and jumps off. Something about the excitement in his voice afterwards gives Steven that helium feeling, scrubs away the anger, and he just tells him to come inside with a sigh that’s a little less exasperated than usual.

The rest of the night is spent planning and, when Cib gets bored, watching the Hannah Montana movie for probably the eighth time. It starts to rain outside, but the cabin is warm and dry, and despite the fact that they have a major deal tomorrow Steven feels calmer than he has for a long time. James has nowhere to be, none of them have anything they have to do until the next day, and after all the planning for this trip that's nice. He lets his head rest on Cib’s shoulder, tired enough that he doesn’t see the surprise in Cib’s eyes and the look James shoots his way, and allows himself to relax for once. Eventually, Cib’s arm settles around him, tentatively, and then with more certainty when he doesn’t pull away. He should be pulling away, shouldn’t be sitting here at all, but he likes the fact that they’re all three together, for whatever reason. Too tired from too many sleepless nights to really care, and the warmth is _nice_. Cib smells like he always has, sweat and Old Spice, but fake cinnamon has replaced the cigarette tar clinging to him when they met, and it’s easy to shut his eyes and fall asleep there.

When he wakes up the next morning, Cib and James are both gone, but someone’s tucked the blanket around where Cib was and put a pillow there to replace his shoulder. His watch says they still have a few hours before the deal, so he gets up without any real hurry, and gets to the bathroom for a shower right as James comes out.

He’s shirtless, in just a towel, and his hair is wet and slicked to his forehead, and the first time he says good morning Steven doesn’t hear it. The second time, he snaps out of it and stutters out a reply, grateful that it’s early enough that James can blame it on the hour.

He lets the hot water scour away what he just saw, push it to the back of his mind until they don’t have work to do and he can determine what it is and find the source.

By the time he gets out of the shower and picks an outfit, James and Cib are having breakfast. Cib smiles when he sees him before going back to their conversation. Something about an army, the water warriors, and scratching pants. He tries to follow for a minute, but Cib is making about as much sense as he usually does, and James’ hair is still wet and tousled from his shower. When he talks, his eyes crinkle a bit, and there’s the same strange feeling in Steven’s stomach as before his shower and he shoves it away again.

 _Later_. When he’s alone. When he can think.

They finish breakfast, Cib and James continuing their conversation far longer than normal humans and Steven just watching, staring. Cib, at one point, catches him off-guard with a quick _‘earth to steven’_ , but he just says the coffee hasn’t kicked in and looks away and that seems to satisfy him.

Then they’re leaving for the deal, all three on the job together for the first time, and Steven feels like nothing could go wrong.

Of course that’s when everything goes wrong.

***

The deal started out fine.

They’d been talking for an hour and they hadn’t reached an agreement, but that in itself wasn’t unusual. Steven could handle that, the back and forth, even the ever-growing tension--they were criminals. They all were. Criminals didn’t disagree with smiles and cute words. He could handle that. He _could_. What he couldn’t handle was the barrel of the gun he was now looking down.

He’d pulled it quickly, stopped Steven in the middle of saying _‘I’m sorry but that won’t work’_ , and James’ is out just as fast but it pales in comparison as the seller takes off the safety.

He suspects they won’t be reaching an agreement any time soon.

Suddenly, a shot goes off, and Cib and James must have agreed on something while he was examining the rifling because the moment it does he’s pulled out of his chair and out the door. A quick turn reveals James behind them, yelling _‘run‘_ ‘ before sprinting after them.

It must be because he’s still shaken, still smells the metal and the gunpowder, but Steven sees the men chasing them while turning a corner and freezes for half a second and it’s half a second too long as a bolt of pain sears up his arm. He runs and this time he doesn’t stop, grits his teeth and tucks it close against his torso because this isn’t his first bad experience with a gun but fuck, _fuck_ , pistol wounds hurt.

Everything slowly begins to blur, then, and just gets worse until suddenly they’re outside and taking cover behind a dumpster. Cib turns to him to check him over, to make sure he’s alright while James lays down some cover fire, and everything around them is going too fast but suddenly Cib’s moving in slow motion. He can see, with perfect clarity, the way his eyes widen in horror and he moves to catch Steven as he stumbles and collapses to the ground, yells a word that Steven can’t hear but must be ‘James’ from the way he turns. He looks down and there’s red, there’s just red, and something in the back of his mind reminds him that there’s an artery that runs down the inside of your arm or maybe that’s your leg or maybe that’s both. Who knows? Not Steven, too busy trying to stay awake, to stay aware. Maybe Cib, he could ask.

A sharp pain jolts him back into real time, and it’s a struggle to keep his head up as he sees Cib pull his headband above the red and twist hard. His hair falls into his eyes, his pretty hair into his pretty eyes, striking blue and filled with a terror that doesn’t fit and it _hurts_ \-- 

He must black out for a moment, because when he comes back James is cupping his head with his hands, and asking him something with desperation in his eyes, and no, no, that’s not good.

“Your eyes.” Steven’s voice doesn’t sound right, it sounds slurred and far away and quiet. “Look scared. Don’t.....look that way. You’re pretty, happy.”

James’ eyes widen as he gives up talking to him, turns to Cib and says something, still holding Steven’s head up.

James looks away when a voice calls out, too loud, and Steven recognizes it only vaguely as the seller, but he doesn’t understand because it can’t be, James fired a shot and James doesn’t miss. He doesn’t understand while Cib holds the tourniquet and his head lolls when James picks up his gun and looks at Steven, pained, for just a moment before hesitating long enough that he loses his shot.

It’s bright, _loud_ , Cib is saying something to James or maybe it’s the other way around. Three shots, or maybe fireworks, and three yells from somewhere far away. James is back, talking at him but not to him which is good because he can’t hear but bad because he likes their voices and he wants to hear them and he wants to understand. He’s being lifted, and it’s confusing, everything’s confusing and suddenly there’s fear, racing through every part of his body because, no, wait a minute, is he _dying_. He looks but can’t find, the fireworks going off until he shuts his eyes and sees them in the light that dances behind his eyelids, and then he sees nothing at all.

***

The first time he wakes up, he isn’t sure where he is but he can tell that he’s alone. It’s not the apartment, and his head hurts and his arm hurts and he can’t move either. He can’t move his other arm, or anything else, actually, and he can’t find enough energy to care. He wants...something, someone, someones? He flicks his eyes around the room. It’s empty save for something going into his arm, and if he could have stayed awake he wouldn’t have found a reason to.

***

The second time he wakes up, it’s to a hand on his cheek, soft and small. It takes a moment to find the energy to pull his eyes open, but when he does, it’s--

Reina.

It’s Reina, and he doesn’t know where she came from, or where she’s been, and all he does know is that she’s not here. She’s not real. She’s gone dark, she’s been dark since SourceFed ended, and he’s imagining this, and she’s not real.

He wants her to be. Why does he want her to be?

Dream Reina tells him to go back to sleep, or something, so he does.

*** 

The third time he wakes up, it’s too dark to see anything except for the moonlight streaming through the window and the figure next to him on the bed. He can’t pick his head up to tell who it is, but their head is resting on his shoulder and their hair is tickling his chin, so it has to be Cib. He’s relieved that he’s alright, then wonders why he wouldn’t be, then is distracted when Cib stirs in his sleep, makes a small sound. There's a hand on his right hand, as well, and it's heavier, callused, so it can't be Cib. James. James is in--a chair, or something. Not with him, even though he should be, but he's here, and with the way things are right now that will have to be enough.

His breathing evens out again in seconds, and Steven feels for a moment with his free hand until he finds Cib's. He doesn’t have the energy or strength to hold it, exactly, but when he rests his hand on Cib’s, the other seems to instinctively curl around him. He feels safer for a moment, knowing that Cib’s there, before letting his eyes slide shut.

***

The fourth time he wakes up, it’s afternoon, and he’s aware. He’s in the Idyllwild lodge with a bullet wound. He can pick his head up enough to look around and see the IVs in his wrist: something red that must be blood and something clear that’s probably dulling the pain.

Someone must have noticed or come to check on him, because the door opens, and there’s Reina, standing in the doorway.

“Reina,” he says, his voice hoarse from disuse, and it’s less a word and more a shocked and reverent sigh.

Reina is here, still Reina, even though he’s awake, even though he knows where he is and what’s going on. She smiles, something tired and sad and relieved in her eyes, and comes to the bed.

“Steven,” she replies with the old warmth in her voice, and doesn’t hesitate before pulling him into a tight hug that he does his best to return. “You really scared us,” she whispers against his ear, still holding him, then she squeezes once and lets go to check his IVs.

“How did you..” he trails off. He’s awake but he can’t think, a combination of blood loss and whatever painkiller is in the second IV. But Reina’s smart. She’s always been, so she knows.

“I'd heard rumors about a new gang when I got back from Japan. I took a job investigating a deal going down in Idyllwild, and I was still on stakeout when I heard gunshots." She pauses. "It's lucky I was in the area. If I hadn’t gotten here so quickly…” She turns away for a moment, sucking in a shaky breath and holding it, pausing before she exhales. Steven doesn’t like this, that she feels like that, wishes she didn’t but doesn’t know what to do.

“But you did.” he offers a weak smile before thinking for a moment. “You--You did, didn’t you?” she laughs at the slight uncertainty, and he’d forgotten how much he missed that sound.

“I did,” she confirms, before seeming to remember something. “I’m going to go tell the others you’re awake.” she starts to turn away, and Steven frowns.

“Wait, don't…” and smart Reina knows. She looks over her shoulder, the same sparkle as always in her eye. 

“Don’t worry. I plan on getting all the gory details of what you’ve been up to while we were dark. Boys only.” she winks, or maybe blinks because he can only see one eye, and leaves the room.

He’s only alone for a few seconds.

James and Cib come in quietly, and the fear on the faces throws them off but, God, he’s glad to see them. Relieved that they’re okay, glad that they’re here. He can see them both relax when they see him, as well, and they pause, but he smiles as well as he can. He’s out of practice and it’s crooked and it probably looks forced, but they don’t seem to mind, Cib smiling back and James nodding from some kind of approval.

“I get shot and you won’t even come to my deathbed, jeez,” he says, and it’s probably the painkillers but he wants them _closer_ he wants to tell them so. They both move at the same time, Cib quite literally jumping into action to spring onto his bed and crawl up to the head of it to examine him, James moving like a sensible person to sit in a chair set up next to the bed. Steven yawns, feeling the strain of even just having a conversation. “How long--?”

“Three days, man,” James says, his voice scratchy, something hard underneath it. Not anger hard, Steven can recognize that by now, but something else. “You lost--you lost a lot of blood.”

Cib nods. “Like, you ran out. It was nuts, dude!” Cib’s voice doesn’t betray the concern, but Steven can see it in his eyes, and it’s unnerving.

He’s only been awake for a few minutes, fifteen at most, but he’s exhausted again. As far as he’s concerned, he’s slept long enough and he wants to keep talking, but his body is saying something else, so instead of replying he just puts his good arm around Cib and his bad hand in James’. He can see something on their faces that could be surprise, delight, relief, before he closes his eyes and ignores it, because the fear that usually stops him is gone. He focuses on how soft Cib’s hair is on his shoulder, and the way that James immediately squeezes his hand back.

Something bothers him, suddenly, something that he has to ask, and so he does.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” He says, keeping his eyes shut. The words are slurring some, but that’s okay. Only James replies.

“Kill who?” And he sounds nervous, intense, for some reason. 

“The guy. Him. You fired but he chased us.” Steven pulls his eyes open, looking at James before letting them fall shut again, sleep coming more quickly than he’d thought. “You’re an--a water warrior, or something. You said you don’t--You _don’t_ miss.”

If there’s an answer, he falls asleep before he hears it. 

***

When he wakes up, the sun is setting, and Cib is asleep next to him again. Steven doesn’t know why his arm is around Cib’s shoulders, doesn’t really remember putting it there, and he’d move it if he had the energy, probably, but…

Cib looks so peaceful, so calm, and it’s hard to believe that this is the same man who had jumped off of a roof a few days before. Who’d saved his life with a headband even more recently.

Cib rolls onto his side and Steven carefully removes his arm. He huffs quietly and buries his face in the crook of Steven’s neck, his hair feather-light on Steven’s cheek. His chest fills again with that weird feeling and, wait, how long has he been smiling, why is he smiling? Oh no, oh no, no, this can’t be happening, it isn’t--

He groans, more like a whimper, because he hasn’t felt like this about anyone since before SourceFed ended, and the time to realize what the feeling is isn’t now, when he’s barely known them two months and they barely know him at all. It can’t be love, he doesn’t feel that, it’s too soon, he won’t let it be, and there are so many other reasons, but. As much he as he wants to deny it, _something_ is there. Something that will hurt when it’s taken away, and it will be. He knows.

Steven tilts his head down, lightly presses his lips against the top of Cib’s head despite himself, and he tells himself it’s to stop them from trembling. It’s just the painkillers, making him feel all weird and soft, or the blood loss, or the fact that Cib and James just saved his life, or that he has friends for the first time since SourceFed. It has to be.

He closes his eyes, lets himself fall away because it’s easier than thinking about this, and can distantly hear the door open before he’s asleep.

***

It’s another two days before he can stay awake longer than an hour or two, and longer before he’s able to get up and walk around without his head spinning and his heart racing, and if the time in bed isn’t spent with Cib or James or both, it’s with Reina.

He tells her everything, over one of those hours or two that he can, because Reina is the only person he knows that he’s sure would care without judging. He tells her about the men, the sex, the hurt. Cib finding him, meeting James, the fact that he feels a way that he’s scared to act on and it won’t go away. She doesn’t interrupt, just sits and waits for him to finish, and when he does, she doesn’t say anything, just pulls him into a hug and stays there. It doesn’t feel like pity, it feels like--

\--like Steven had forgotten that there was still someone out there who loved him, he realizes as he wraps his arms around her in return. Someone who cared _because_ rather than _despite_ , and for the first time since they parted ways he cries.

It doesn’t last very long, but he’s shaking, and by the end he’s gross and there are wet stains on Reina’s shirt but she doesn’t let go until he starts to pull away on his own. When she looks at him it’s not with pity but the sorrow of someone who understands, and just that thought is enough to send another few tears down his cheeks as he turns away.

Almost like she can tell what he’s thinking, and probably because she’s known him long enough that she can, Reina cups his cheek, turns him back, and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“I’m sorry,” Steven says automatically, and she shakes her head, cutting him off. Her eyes are glittering with something, probably tears, and beneath them he can see a deep, deep well of what looks like guilt. She starts to say something, something like _"_ I'm _s--"_ before shaking her head, blinking a few times.

“You’re fine,” she says instead, her own voice thick, and he knows that she means it for more than just the apology.

*** 

They stay in Idyllwild for another few days. Everything is done, in terms of what they’re there to do, but even though Steven insists he’s fine everyone else has been keeping him in bed until he’s reached the upper end of the timespan for blood loss recovery. Steven learns that Reina’s been freelancing as a doctor and a PI, working stakeouts for people too lazy or too obvious to do it themselves, and he learns that while he was recovering Cib and James went to the meeting to see about a fourth, and apparently an unexpected fifth and sixth. They hadn’t made the decision yet, wanted Steven to at least hear about them and meet them if he wanted to.

“He’s kinda weird. And one of his friends is a little terrifying,” James says, and something about hearing him admit it makes Steven feel a little better about that possibility. He might be scared, but not ashamed, and not alone, and maybe that would change things.  

“Yeah, he didn’t talk, like, the whole time. He had sweet shades, though. I’d hire him,” Cib says, and of course that’s why Cib would take him on. The thought makes him smile, a little, and he nods.

“I mean, if you think they’d be good for the crew then we should hire them. We need more than just us.”

Cib nods, goes to make a call, and James stays behind and then they’re alone.

James starts to speak, then stops, moves like he’s going to take Steven’s hand, and stops again.

 _Fuck it_ , Steven thinks, and really he must be on morphine or something, because he reaches out his own and ignores the way his stomach flutters at the touch. James blinks at him in surprise before seeming to stabilize.

“You asked me, uh, why I didn’t kill him,” James says, and whatever Steven was thinking about is put on pause. “I didn’t…” he trails off, taking a breath and starting again. “I don’t want to be the kind of person you’re scared of,” James says, and the intensity in his eyes is the same as it was when they met in the club. It startles Steven, that that same burning he’d been so scared of when they met is dedicated to the exact opposite.

“Why?” he says, before he can stop himself, and his voice sounds strange. Vulnerable.

“What?” James asks, and he sounds just as confused as Steven feels.

“Why do you--why do you care?” he asks again, swallowing, and suddenly it’s important that James answers.

A lot of things seem to flash through James’ face before he settles on uncertainty. He opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out for a moment, and his eyes search Steven’s face, but Steven doesn’t know for what.

“I don’t know, dude. It’s like--when you’re scared, something feels wrong,” he says. “It feels like I’m _doing_ something wrong, if I’m scaring you, and I want to stop whatever it is until you’re happy.”

And it doesn’t make sense, it shouldn’t make sense, but apparently crying to Reina has turned Steven into someone who cries because he can feel the tears burning behind his eyes. It’s disgusting.

It shouldn’t feel so important, the fact that someone doesn’t like it when he’s scared, but it does because no one has in so long, and he can’t respond past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know how he _should_ respond, so he says the first thing that comes to mind once he’s able to get it out.

“I was never scared of... _you_ ,” he says, pausing to figure out how to explain. “Only…the person you could be. The person that people like you usually are. If that makes sense.” It probably doesn’t. He’s stupid, who’s scared of potential? It’s dumb, and James is going to realize that. 

But James only nods, seeming a little relieved, and squeezes the hand that Steven had forgotten he was holding. And then Steven yawns, because he’s been feeling too many emotions and he’s been awake longer than he has since he was shot, and James lets go. He doesn’t want him to, but he can’t bring himself to reveal that much, not after realizing what he did two nights ago, and he shuts his eyes and pretends not to notice when James tucks the blanket around him.

***

James insists on driving back up to Los Santos, even when Steven tells him that the blood loss was worse than the actual wound and that he’s fine, and he only agrees when he gets lightheaded trying to get out of the car and prove James wrong. He’s grateful now, because Cib’s asleep in the backseat and he’s not far himself, with a warm car and James softly humming to the music he’s playing.

When they’d left, Reina’d had to stay behind for her work, but not before she and Steven exchanged new numbers and promised that next time she was in Los Santos they’d meet up again. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, after SourceFed ended and he turned that part of his brain off, but it was like something he hadn’t known was broken had fixed itself. It was….nice, to have her in the back of his mind to hold on to. 

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and turns to see James lip syncing to Cyndi Lauper, and the contrast between the man sitting next to him and the man in the Waterside club draws a small smile to his face. James had seemed concerned before they’d left, oddly so, almost guiltily so, and he doesn’t like that but he doesn’t know how to fix it now that the pain medicine is gone and the fear is back.

No, that’s not true, he realizes suddenly. The fear _isn’t_ back. He doesn’t need courage to approach James anymore, not the way he used to. He’s not scared of him, even now that he’s fully awake and aware and himself. It’s a different kind of fear, now. He’s scared of--of whatever comes after not being scared of James, and of pushing whatever their relationship is towards that. And he’s not so much scared of that as he is scared of potentially losing it once it’s developed. Scared that James will eventually realize how pathetic he is and decide he doesn’t want to get involved. And then something new: he’s scared that Cib will do the same, and he hadn’t thought about that before, that Cib may seem reliant now but it was Cib who’d started this thing and Cib who saved his life when he was bleeding out and Cib who had the exact same ability to walk away. Steven doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want either of them to.

He’s scared that he wants something he’ll never have, and that the sooner he asks for it the sooner he’ll have to deal with the rejection.

James must notice him tense at the thought, because he stops singing, makes a questioning sound and looks over when they’re stopped at a red light. Steven shakes his head, gestures vaguely to his arm, and however much he wants to, he can’t push down the flutter in his chest that comes because James asked at all.


	3. Sonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY so we wrote about 5,000 more words than planned, so to keep chapters even I'm bumping it to five. Also if you've left kudos I love you and if you left a comment I hope you know that I would die for you. This isn't WoozleBucket's first fic, but it is my first fic, so I'm really happy that everyone likes it.
> 
> Having said that, this next chapter is a little short, and the next two after will be longer will be longer to make up for it. But it's about to rip your heart out in a way that no one deserves. Especially not Cib!
> 
> Sorrynotsorry

He supposes it was a given, with everything that’s been going on.

It’s been a week since they left Idyllwild, and Steven is mostly back on his feet. He’s still taking iron supplements, he will be for a while, and he still isn’t good for strenuous exercise, but that wasn’t something he did much anyway so he’s mostly back to normal. He’s been in situations that he considers worse--more painful, longer lasting, more dangerous. Things he was conscious for, things he could feel during the worst of it.

It’s easy for him to forget about it. He didn’t die, and he isn’t permanently disabled, and so he considers that a win and moves on. James was protective of him for a couple days, definitely, but even he seems to have accepted that it’s over, taken information from the experience and put it behind him.

Cib hasn’t.

Steven’s been noticing it more and more over the past week, that Cib’s been coming with him on jobs he usually does alone, that he hasn’t given him as many in the first place. That he insists Steven rest when he feels fine, that he seems to need to know where he is in the apartment. It’s fine, at first, until it lasts longer than a couple days, and then it’s weird, and then it’s kind of annoying, and then it’s really annoying.

It’s the first time he’s been truly frustrated with Cib, or he would be if he felt emotions, which he doesn’t, but Cib does and, as far as he can tell, it looks like Cib’s getting frustrated with him, too. He can’t figure out why.

(He pushes down how much that scares him, the fear that Cib will realize he isn’t worth the trouble and leave, the temptation to just let him do what he wants and keep him happy because even if he’s frustrated he doesn’t want this to end.)

He snaps, or he supposes they both do, when he takes his key to go to the supermarket literally two blocks away and Cib stands up to follow.

“Cib, you don’t have to come everywhere with me, _jesus,_ ” he snaps before he can stop himself, and regrets it almost immediately when he sees the hurt flash across Cib’s face. He regrets it even more when that hurt turns to something like anger, something like pain, and Cib sits back down, turning away. Steven sighs, setting down his key and walking towards the living room. “Cib--”

“Just go already,” Cib interrupts, not turning around, and Steven’s taken aback by the venom in it. “Fruit waits for no man.”

He doesn’t understand, and it’s a different version of not understanding than he’s used to. He sees the reasoning behind it well enough, that he was hurt and Cib wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again because Steven’s good at his job and that’s hard to find, but he didn’t expect...worry. Anger. Something that suggests it’s Steven Cib’s worried about and not his negotiation skills.

He pushes that thought away, replaces it with others. Yeah, he was hurt, but it could have been worse, it could have left him needing physical therapy or bedrest or with brain damage. It could have been _much_ worse than just a graze to his arm, and it’s not like this is the first time--

It dawns on him, suddenly, that this isn’t _his_ first experience with near death, but it might just be _Cib’s_.

It would make sense. He was alone with a brand new dealing business when he’d recruited Steven. Despite the glaringly obvious signs, he hadn’t even known what kind of work Steven did, and Cib didn’t seem to have any relevant contacts in the criminal business, which was almost unheard of in LS. This had to be new for Cib, and Steven sighs. He may not feel emotions, but he remembers when he did. Remembers, even after all this time, the first time he saw Zaragoza get shot. Steven may be a trauma-induced sociopath, but he isn’t heartless.

“Get in the car,” he says, grabbing the keys again, and Cib turns around. Some of the hurt’s been replaced with confusion, and something loosens in Steven’s chest.

“I thought you didn’t want me to come,” he says, more sullen than genuine.

“Okay, fine, then. Don’t, I guess,” he replies nonchalantly, walking towards the door and taking the car key. He knows Cib will follow, regardless of what he thinks Steven wants, and he’s proved right when Cib jumps up and scurries after him.

He asks multiple times where they’re going as they go down the building stairs, and then again in the car because they don’t drive to the grocery store, but Steven doesn’t answer until they pull into a parking deck and get out.

The sound of guitar music fills the air just like he’d known it would. He’d seen a sign for a musical festival that he’d remembered so he could avoid the traffic, and he knows Cib keeps a guitar in his room that either moves around on its own or is handled very often by its owner. Steven’s banking on the latter. He can see the confusion in Cib’s eyes, and he walks around to the parking meter to pay the fee.

“There’s a music festival in town,” he says needlessly, and offers no other explanation as he steps out into the street, Cib in tow.

***

They’ve been there for two hours, and Steven’s fear of large crowds is as strong as ever, but there’s a visible change in Cib’s demeanor and he decides it’s worth it. It took a good few minutes of walking around and listening to the bands, but he could see his shoulders relaxing and the stress seeming to melt off his face, and after a little bit he’d started talking to Steven about the development of each type of music and the technical challenges and using a lot of terms that Steven doesn’t understand.

Sometimes he doesn’t listen, just watches Cib talk and tries to memorize the way his eyes light up at each new topic, and he gets the same feeling he got on the couch and lying on the bed in Idyllwild and he tries to ignore the fact that it’s only gotten stronger. Sometimes he does listen, and discovers that Cib was in a band before he came to America, that he played guitar and took piano lessons before whatever had happened that sent him here.

He pictures, for a moment, Cib playing guitar, singing, and when he blinks back to reality, discovers he’s lost Cib in the festival and, as annoyed as he was earlier, the noise and crowd were really only worth it when Cib was leading him through it--

A hand grabs his wrist and he jumps as he’s pulled into an alley a little way off the side. It’s Cib, who looks just an anxious as Steven feels, but while Steven relaxes once they’re out of the throng of people in the street, Cib doesn’t, still holding his wrist.

It looks like he’s about to speak, anticipation and worry written on his face, but he stops, and Steven sees that same desperation in his eyes that he’d had when Steven was bleeding out against a dumpster. He sighs, moving his wrist out of Cib’s grip, and maybe it’s the relief that they’re finally somewhere a little quieter and maybe it’s because he remembers that kind of horror all too well, but something gives him the courage to take Cib’s hand and set it on his heart.

Cib looks up at him, eyes wide, and Steven tries to smile and hopes Cib doesn’t notice the way his heart’s racing at the touch.

“It’s, uh, it’s still beating,” is all he says, his voice a little breathy, and Cib is still for a moment. “So is yours. And James’. You’re worried, it’s fine. But you can relax. And, uh, maybe you can leave me alone? Not, like, all the time. But I can take care of myself. It’s not like this is the first time or anything.”

After a moment, Cib nods hesitantly, and Steven sees some of that wild terror leave his eyes, watches icy blue soften into something more like still water. Not all of it, or enough for Steven’s taste, but enough for now. “...Mmhm. Yeah, sure.” And suddenly it feels like Cib is looking just as deep into Steven’s eyes as Steven is looking into his, and he’s all too aware of Cib’s hand on his chest, and he forces a small laugh.

“You weren’t listening to a thing I said,” and he hopes Cib will take the hint. Cib seems to hesitate a moment before looking away.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Cib says, and takes his hand away, and Steven can’t ignore a burst of guilt at the way Cib seems to have suddenly been subdued by something. Someone.

He takes a deep breath and shifts his grip from Cib’s wrist to his hand.

“So we won’t--uh, we won’t lose each other in the crowd,” he clarifies, but Cib’s smile comes back like it means something more. _Maybe it does_ , the little hopeful gremlin in his brain says, but he doesn’t have time to think about that because they’re out of the alley and back into the crowd.

***

Cib gives him a lot more space, after that. Not a normal, healthy amount, because he’s still Cib, but better than what it was. Steven’s happier with that, has always been someone who preferred to be alone, but on this job, for the first time in a while, he wishes that Cib, or James, or even that new guy who keeps losing money “by accident”, had come with him.

It was the kind of client that he and his--coworkers? Did that work?--used to call a ‘makeup job’, someone who wouldn’t be impressed unless a pretty face showed up and did their stuff. There were probably other ways to make sure the deal ran smoothly, but Steven didn’t know them, and before he left he’d found himself staring into a mirror at a face he hadn’t seen in three months.

James and Cib had been out already, and he was both glad that they wouldn’t see him like this and desperate for someone to reassure him that he knew what he was doing. That this wouldn’t turn back into everything it was before.

(And he’s started to define his memories as _before_ , he had realized: before SourceFed ended, before Cib hired him, before he met James, before he’d fallen for--)

And he cuts off the thought because the job is over now, and nothing had gone wrong and nothing had gone back, and all he wants is to get home.

It’s a short walk, and he must have blanked out because he’s at the door already, unlocking it and stepping inside. He takes a deep breath, shutting the door quietly and just standing for a moment before hanging the key and moving to go to his room. As he passes the living room, he sees James asleep on the couch out of the corner of his eye and stops, because he’s alone.

Usually Cib would be next to him, after some movie night, but he’s not. There’s a blanket where he used to be, only half over James, and James is sitting in the middle, so Cib had to have been there before, but…

Steven pulls a throw pillow between James’ head and his arm, pulls the blanket a little higher, and he pauses for a moment before reaching out to take his glasses and set them on the coffee table. James looks peaceful when he sleeps, not the kind of blank he is when he’s upset, but just relaxed, and he feels that same swell of...affection, he knows now, and he’s too tired to deny it. Tired in general of being so scared to _want this_.

He sighs and pulls himself away. The clock on the stove in the other room says 3:48, and it’s too late--early?--to sit here staring at James and wondering why Cib got up. He goes to his room, leaving his shoes in the hall as he goes, ready to just lie down and go to sleep, and he opens his door to see Cib, sprawled across his bed and out cold.

It takes him a moment to take that in, to realize that he did actually walk into his room and not Cib’s, and when he does he just sighs. He could go to Cib’s bed if he really wanted to sleep alone, but Cib’s hygiene scares him and it’s so far down the hall and he actually really, really doesn’t want to sleep alone. He hasn’t wanted to be alone since he left the apartment, and given that Cib’s in his bed, and that before the festival he seemed worried and worried about him….he thinks it’s a safe bet, at least just for tonight, to think that Cib doesn’t really want to be alone either. And he’s too tired to keep arguing with himself.

He sits on his bed, trying to find a spot that has enough room that he could reasonably get in with a little room to spare, and when he does, he pushes Cib lightly to the side and, God, lying down feels good. He has to be careful not to get too close, or make too much contact, because, even if Cib is okay with this, there are probably limits, but hearing Cib breathing next to him, knowing he’s lying in Steven’s bed, is...nice.

He’s half gone already when he hears Cib shift and feels an arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him away from the edge of the bed where he’d slid in. He stiffens automatically, not from the touch, but from the worry that’d he’d gone too far, but Cib just pulls him closer.

“Sleep, idiot,” Cib says, and the words are quiet and sleep-slurred, but they’re enough, and he does.

***

“Nice ‘coon eyes,” James comments late the next morning when Steven finally gets up.

“Fuck off,” Steven groans. He hasn’t had coffee or even a shower yet. It’s too early for this, but of course he would forget to wash it off and of course James or Cib would comment on it.

“No, dude, I like them,” James says. “They bring out your...face.”

“Gee, thanks,” he replies, standing from the table and turning to leave the kitchen, to take off the remains of last night’s eyeliner, but James stops him.

“Dude, at least have coffee first,” he says, something strange in his eyes, and Steven sits back down with a sigh because it’s 11:30 and it’s _still_ too early for this.

When he’d woken up about five minutes ago, Cib was already up, and he and James looked like they’d been awake for a while. Cib had been leaving, to go run some kind of errand, and James had just poured him a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to ask him about last night and, apparently, reveal that his makeup was both still on and smudged.

“I really do like it,” James says, interrupting his thoughts. “I mean, like, the part that’s not fucked up. It looks good.” And he’s trying to be nice, Steven knows, but--

“That’s why I wear it,” he snaps before he can stop himself, and turns away so James doesn’t see the guilt that floods in immediately after.

Rationally, he knows James didn’t mean anything that would hurt, or anything crude, or anything like the things he remembered when he was trying to keep his hands steady and his eyeliner straight. But he doesn’t like it, the knowledge that the people he lo--likes so much think he looks good this way. He doesn’t want them to. That’s not what he wants them to notice about him.

“Woah, dude, I’m just trying to give you a compliment,” James says, sounding hurt.

“Just...don’t,” Steven says, glaring into his coffee, and it sounds sullen even to himself but whatever, honestly.

It’s not like he doesn’t want them to think he looks good. He does. But the makeup...it pains him. It reminds him of all the things that he doesn’t like to think about, of everything that he wants to put past him. He’s used to people taking the makeup as a sign that, yes, they can fuck him, and no, he won’t put up a fuss. He wants Cib to look at him the way that he does without eyeliner, wants James to compliment him when he doesn’t look like a fucking raccoon. That’s still kind of scary to him; he’s still terrified that they’re going to leave him or he’s going to leave them and run away to fucking China or something, but he’s argued with himself and always lost. Or won. Or whatever it is when you have to admit that something that you don’t want to be real is real.

The makeup was what changed him in the first place, what stripped him away every night until he was a toy instead of a person, and he knows that’s just a symbol or something that he probably needs therapy for, but when he wore it last night, it was because he knew it would do the same then. The thought that it could do the same now, even if it isn’t, is sickening.

If he was braver, if he wasn’t in this stupid makeup, he might apologize. For now, though, he just mumbles some excuse and leaves to take it off, leaving James staring after.

He makes sure to turn the water as hot as it will go, scrubbing his face until he feels like if nothing else the makeup must have _burned_ off, before getting out and taking a makeup remover wipe to what’s left around his eyes. When he’s done, he looks like himself again, but, for some reason, that’s not the comfort it usually is. He’s still anxious about going out to talk to James again, still doesn’t want to be seen, but it’s not the fear from before. Again with before.

He’s upset James, he knows that, but instead of being scared of whatever James will do, he feels guilty in a way that hurts. Regretful. Ashamed.

He feels _broken_ , he realizes, and it’s like a punch in the gut. He can’t even take a compliment from someone he cares about, not without getting snappy and scared and anxious. That hadn’t mattered so much before--the compliments weren’t coming from anyone worth caring about--but now it feels like he’s been robbed, robbed of his dignity and his old life and even the ability to be happy with something. With someone. _Add that_ onto _his crippling anxiety, and you’ve got the hot mess known as Steven Suptic_ , he thinks, and if thoughts can sound bitter this one does.

It’s probably just about the worst thing he could do, but he doesn’t want James to see him like this over something as stupid as a _compliment_ , so he goes into his room and locks the door.

***

When he comes out of his room a few hours later, Cib still isn’t back and James is sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table. Steven knows he must have, but it doesn’t look like he’s moved all day. James looks at him, and Steven looks away automatically, not wanting his face to reveal anything that he can’t say. Not wanting to find something in James’ face that reminds him of this morning.

“Cib isn’t back yet?” he asks, sitting across the table and still not looking up.

“No,” James says, and it goes silent again. Steven taps his fingers on the table, once, twice.

God, this is awkward.

“Did you, uh,” Steven clears his throat. “did you eat?” A pause.

“Yeah,” James says, still not looking at him.

“Good! That’s, uh, good…” Steven looks around, taps his heel on the floor. Waits for more of a reply, speaks when it doesn’t come. “Did, uh, did Cib tell you where he was going? It’s just--it’s...it’s been a while, so--”

“No.” And that’s that.

Well. Steven can add ‘learn how to socialize like a normal person’ to his list for tomorrow.

“I’m going to call Cib,” he says, to escape the conversation, and goes into the living room, where any fears he had about whatever this is with James--an argument?--are replaced by something almost worse.

Because Cib doesn’t pick up on the first call, or the second, or the third, and his location services show that he’s been at the park for the past six hours. That, in and of itself, isn’t unusual: there are a lot of times Cib simply wants to be alone, doesn’t answer his phone, sits in one place for a while. What is unusual is that he left his location services on because unfailingly when he doesn’t want to be found he makes sure he can’t be found, and something about this feels wrong enough that Steven is going to go check it out.

“I’m going to the park,” he says, no longer simply nervous, and something in his voice must pique James’ interest.

“Why?” James asks, already rising, and at least mutual worry for the biggest idiot either of them know is enough to make them put this aside.

“Cib’s location services have been there for the past six--seven hours.” And James follows him out the door, because James is just as familiar with Cib’s eccentricities as Steven is, and somehow they don’t say another word until they’re parking on the street by the park and Steven is pulling out his phone to try and track down where exactly Cib could be.

“There’s a treehouse, like, right here, isn’t that where he--?” James asks, and Steven shakes his head. Something anxious settles in his stomach, something hard and worried, and whatever it is is telling him that this is wrong.

“No. I mean--yeah, but not--it says he’s right next to us, on our right,” he says, and turns, and beside them is--

A garbage can. He calls Cib’s phone and hears it ring, echoing off the metal and rustling the trash inside with the vibration. That little anxious pit in his stomach grows to something that takes over his chest.

“Fuck,” James says, and Steven doesn’t really have anything to add.


	4. Quondam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done :)

It’s been two, almost three, days and Steven hasn’t slept. He’d tried to call in old SourceFed contacts before remembering that actually he didn’t have many anymore, and James had tried to get ahold of some of his many, many strange contacts, but between the two of them they had…well, nothing, really, and that left that new guy and his two roommates. They’d been on a job, but while they were technically employees, Steven either thought they were incompetent or just in general didn’t want them around. He didn’t have time for that anymore. 

He dials the easiest to ask, a man he vaguely remembers hearing as  _ Parker _ , and lets it ring.

It takes a moment, but eventually there’s a “Yello?”

“Parker, yeah, hi,” Steven says, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he’s sure he’d be regretting this if he wasn’t so desperate for a lead. “Look, James and I-”

“Oh my god, Steve! I swear the money’s on the wa-”

“No, I don’t--Well, yeah, I do and I’m expecting a cashier’s check tonight, but--”

“Paypal?”

“No, not--fucking, Cib’s missing,” he says, taking a deep breath to get his voice to stop cracking because he doesn’t have time for this right now. There’s silence on the other end for a moment before some rustling, and Parker, as he is Parker, at least sounds more aware next time he replies. 

  
“Phone?”    
  
“Disposed of.”    
  
“Tracker?”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Does he have a tracker.”

“No, he doesn’t have--” and it continues like that for a while, a single-minded stream of ‘yes’ and ‘no’, until Parker says he’s got what he needs for his roommate to do something and Steven hangs up. James is waiting for him, in the doorway of his room.

“Anything?” James says, sounding messy. Not broken, but definitely cracked. Steven takes a moment, clears his face, puts himself back into the emotionless work-mode that he needs to be in right now, before replying.    
  
“One of the new hires is on it. He’s apparently pretty good. We should have something soon,” Steven says, trying to ignore how he sounds cold and detached and almost uncaring, and sits down on his bed. James seems to almost puff at that, takes a breath that sounds something like anger, before letting it out, shaking his head. He walks back out the doorway he came, taking a left and heading towards Cib’s room, and only then does Steven let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, lets the emotions come back for a minute.

  
He knows he’s in the middle of an argument with James. He thinks he knows, at least, because  _ James _ certainly seems to be in the middle of an argument with  _ him _ , but he can’t figure out why, and he can’t think about it when Cib is God knows where with God knows who.

That’s a problem, though, because for the first time he  _ wants _ to understand. Even with SourceFed, even with Reina, it was different, always backed by some part of him that was convinced he was right. Something stubborn, something proud. He doesn’t have his pride anymore, maybe never will again, and right now there’s nothing there but the desire to find out what he’s doing to upset James and then to stop. 

And James does seem genuinely upset. Okay, yeah, of course, Cib is missing, they’re both upset, but it’s beyond that. His shoulders are tense, pushed towards the ground by some force that Steven can’t see, and he looks like he’s both desperate for and terrified of any kind of conversation. 

It’s guilt, Steven realizes with a sharp jolt, and he shoves himself back into work mode because it’s terrifying in multiple ways to think that James could have something to feel guilty for.

***

It’s another day or so before Jeremy gives them any information, but when he does it’s both as plentiful and reliable as Parker said it would be. Cib was kidnapped by some crew called Fake Chop, on behalf of a Geoff Ramsey, whose territory they border.    
  
It’s an effective warning, if still one they’ll disregard.

They know where he’s being held, too, and Jeremy must not deal in incompletes because he’s even scoped the building and told them how many guards are outside. 

  
They don’t have a floor plan, or any plan, or really anything that would qualify as preparation to enter a warehouse with an unknown number of guards to find someone that they aren’t even one hundred percent sure is inside, but as thorough as Steven is with what he does have, he isn’t very worried about what he doesn’t. He won’t let himself be, won’t give in to that terror that keeps threatening to overwhelm him. He's worked with less information before, came out on top almost every time.

(Information, that was his specialty, but not Jeremy’s kind, not tracking and finding and planning. Concrete things. Steven always had secrets, blackmail sharing the space between him and whoever had what he needed, favors hanging in the air around him. He had something human, and it’s more valuable but trickier to hold, to gain, to offer as a skill when everything goes south.

  
If he finds a guard, he can break them, and he only needs one person with any fraction of the knowledge he needs. He remembers all of the skills he used to have, and if he doesn’t, he’ll have to make new ones up. Cib is--and he’s ready to admit--the best thing that happened to him since SourceFed collapsed, and he deserves better than for Steven to let him down after everything he’s dealt with for them.)

And then James comes in to ask if he’s ready, and he’s reminded that he’s not alone, even if things are tense. Something in him notices that he accepted that, accepted that even when they’re arguing, there’s someone at his side, and he’s more surprised by the fact that that doesn’t scare him the way it used to. He’s let someone in, and he wants to be shocked, afraid, but the hurt, terrified part of him that refuses to let the walls down seems to be quieter, now. Not as all-encompassing.

He pushes those thoughts away, clears his mind because thinking too much is not a good thing right now. He just nods instead of saying anything, and then they’re leaving. He’s got Parker, Jeremy, and Andrew in a com in his ear and James next to him. He’s not alone, and soon Cib won’t be either.

***

The grounds outside the warehouse smell like smoke and--opium? Steven doesn’t really know what that smells like, but if he had to guess it’d be this. He and James are waiting for Jeremy’s okay, and each second feels like a year. 

“What if he’s--” James starts to whisper, and cuts himself off when his voice shakes. 

“He’s  _ not _ ,” Steven replies, his voice cold and hard as steel, and he’s almost trying to convince himself. If James looks at him with a little hurt, something that is almost begging him to tear down whatever uncaring shell this has to be, he ignores it. If he cares right now, if he lets himself be afraid of the fact that he’s suddenly in the field again and that he may not be ready, lets himself be worried about everything that could go wrong or could have already gone wrong, he won’t be able to do anything  _ except _ feel, and they can’t afford that right now.

  
Jeremy suddenly gives the okay, tells them that the guards are changing shifts right about now and that they need to move, and Steven doesn’t hesitate before leaving cover and hopping the fence, pulling his gun, and immediately shooting one of them between the eyes. When James follows a second later, Steven has the other pinned to the wall.    
  
“I think it’s better for both of us if you tell me where he is,” he says, his voice dripping nonchalance, the gun resting against the guard’s neck and no tension in Steven’s body, and apparently that’s just as terrifying as it used to be because the guard stutters out directions before Steven even finishes his sentence. 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he says, before catching James’ eye, nodding, and stepping out of the way as a bullet tears through the guard’s heart. The door is open, still, but they take whatever keys were on him anyway. The building inside is suspiciously empty. 

_ This is a warning _ , Steven remembers, and starts to walk a little slower, because if it looks still on the outside there’s got to be a surprise on the inside. He checks before turning every corner, never turns his back to a room he hasn’t cleared, but nothing happens. No one comes. He’s got no doubt there are people in here--it just doesn’t feel empty--but for whatever reason they’re staying away.

He doesn’t like this.

“I don’t like this,” James mutters, and it’s good to know that at least for now they’re on the same page.

They only encounter a handful of guards on the way, and Steven is able to swipe a key off of one of them once he goes down. They find the room they’re looking for easily, too easily, and Steven is absolutely sure this is a trap of some kind, but if Cib is in there he doesn’t care. He unlocks the door, practically throws it open and  _ God _ he’s got to look desperate by now but--

  
Cib is there, blindfolded and tied to a chair, but he swung his head towards the sound of the door and that means he’s alive, conscious, and he can hear James call Cib’s name with all of the relief Steven feels and suddenly Steven is across the room with his arms wrapped tight around him.

Cib tenses up, at first, flinches away, but he must have recognized James’ voice because before Steven can pull away he’s relaxing into it. 

He pulls away long enough to pull the blindfold off Cib’s face, and suddenly he’s looking into confused crystal blue that darts between Steven and James before settling on Steven again, and then he smiles weakly and suddenly--

  
Suddenly everything he’s been pushing down for the past three days hits him like a truck, desperation and fear and anxiety and guilt and relief and it’s too much, all of it, three days worth of worry, and he pulls Cib closer again to stop his hands from shaking and buries his face in his shoulder so that neither of the others will see that if he doesn’t get ahold of himself he’ll cry.

The feeling passes after a second or two, and he takes a deep breath and pulls himself together before letting go to see James and Cib both looking at him with something like bewilderment. Cib’s smile seems to get a little stronger. 

“So you do care,” Cib says, shakily, with some strange cadence in his voice, and it doesn’t--it doesn’t sound like  _ Cib _ , after whatever happened to him here, and his heart breaks a little. Then he registers what he said.    
  
“Of course I do,” he snaps almost before Cib is done, because even the idea that he doesn’t stings right now for some reason, and Cib stops speaking, seems taken aback by the ferocity in it. “I care about both of you.” And then so does James.

He gets to work untying Cib and it’s harder than it should’ve been because his hands are shaking just enough to make them hard to use. Once he’s finished, neither of them move, and when he looks up they’re still just looking at him with something curious in their eyes. Surprised. And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or the fact that Cib could have died or been tortured or something, but, for some reason, it hurts that they’re so shocked. 

  
“Is it--Is it really that surprising?” he asks, his voice breaking a little because he does care, they’re the first people he’s cared about in a long time and he’s finally accepted that, and it looks like they never even realized.  _ Didn’t care enough about  _ you _ to recognize it _ , the little hurt and terrified part of him says, growing a little, and then James responds.    
  
“You’ve never said it, um, like that,” James says, looking away, and there’s something gruff in his voice. Then Cib hisses in pain when he tries to get up, and Steven’s snapped out of whatever the hell that was. 

“Your headband,” James says, and that’s when Steven notices that Cib doesn’t have it, and Cib wouldn’t be caught dead without it.

“Oh, I don’t really need it, it’s kind of strange,” Cib says, trying again to get up, and he must be concussed or something because this isn’t right.

  
“Cib,  _ don’t _ , jesus--” He quickly moves to help him up, throws Cib’s arm around his shoulder for support and ignores the words he’s stringing together about--basketball? James supports his other side, catches Steven’s gaze and mouths  _ ‘head trauma? _ ’, and it must be because Steven’s never really seen Cib act this way. They’re slow and obvious getting out of there, but no one comes, and if Cib seems to cling to them with something more than a need for physical support no one stops him.

(All there is, once they get outside, is a small note underneath Andrew’s windshield that even Andrew is surprised to find, and once Cib is in the backseat with James and they’re going home-- _ home _ \--Steven reads it.  _ I look forward to meeting with you _ , it says, written in elegant script and signed with GF and a small gold star--the Fake star, and the gold of the Golden Boy. 

He crumples it up and throws it out the window.)

***

It’s only after they get home that Steven feels the exhaustion of the last three days hit him. Even when he can hardly stand, even when Cib’s home where he belongs, even when he can hear him talking about how vaping affects the body in the other room while Andrew dresses his cuts and tells him he’s got bruised ribs.  

_ Bruised, not broken _ , Steven tells himself, and some of that shakiness that’s been following him around disappears. Not enough, not nearly enough to make him feel like he’s on level ground yet, but enough that maybe he’s not in freefall anymore.

He’d been in there with them before Andrew shoved both him and James out the door and told them to go change clothes, and Steven had only obliged when he’d realized how bloody he was. Andrew hadn’t let them back in, despite the weirdly condescending way Cib had stated that “I’m happier when they’re in here, and a happy patient makes a happy nurse, don’t you think?” And that was worrying, Cib’s sudden intellect, but as they’d listened to the conversation it seemed to get less coherent by the second, and on anyone else that would be a red flag, but for Cib it only made Steven breathe a sigh of relief. The door had stayed locked, though, so Steven is sitting, dazed, on the couch with James, all the tension from before back now that Cib is safe. 

It’s silent until James sighs. 

“Are we gonna talk about this?” he asks, and Steven hesitates a moment before continuing his streak of making bad decisions. 

“Talk about wh—“

“See, there it is again,” James interrupts, obviously frustrated. “You always ignore this stuff. You go lock yourself in your room or pretend like it never happened. No, you’re facing this. We’re  _ going _ to talk about this.”

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” Steven snaps, suddenly annoyed. “You complimented me and I broke down—“ 

“It’s not about that, dude!” And James is yelling now, and even if he’s not scared of James,  Steven can’t help trying to back away, and when James sees he seems to take a moment and a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “It’s about  _ that _ ,” he says, quieter this time, before sitting back down and continuing when Steven doesn’t reply.

“It’s about how you have this stuff—like, you obviously have this stuff you don’t like, and then you just don’t ever tell anyone about it. You never tell anyone about  _ anything _ . You barely talk to me or seem to care when Cib is gone, but then you don’t sleep for three days until he’s okay. I don’t get it. I don’t get  _ you _ —“ 

“Why did you look so guilty?” Steven says, desperate to steer this conversation away from where it’s going and with enough venom to cut James off. He wishes he weren’t so defensive right now, but he is, and just the idea of James finding out what he used to do—who he used to  _ be— _ is terrifying. 

James blinks. “What?” 

“I’m not the only one with secrets,” Steven says, and it sounds petulant but it’s true. He turns away from James, traces the knit pattern on the couch with his little finger and waits for a response.

The silence between them then is heavy, the only sounds the low undercurrents of Cib and Aladdin’s conversation and the clock in the kitchen, and when Steven gathers the nerve to look back, James seems to be weighing something.

“How about this,” James says eventually, and it sounds careful, cautious. “I’ll tell you mine. But then you have to tell me yours. Sound fair?”

Steven hesitates. He’s scared, he’s terrified at the thought of doing that, he’s too exhausted to try, but it hits him for second time that he’s tired emotionally, too. Of being scared. Of getting into stuff like this. Of feeling broken.

And something in him realizes that James is right. However much he wants to keep this hidden, it’s not fair to James  _ or _ Cib to keep blowing up and shutting them out. This isn’t just about him anymore.

Against his better judgement, he nods.

“Okay.” 

James seems surprised that he said yes, but weakly smiles after a moment. 

“Okay,” he says as well, and begins.

*** 

“When I was six, my parents died, and I was moved into a group home.” James takes a breath, lets it out. He seems just as hesitant as Steven is, and that’s both worrying and reassuring. The emotion that was in his voice just moments ago has been erased, like he’s reading a script. “No one was permanent there. People got fostered, or adopted, or sent off to juvie. No one stayed except...me.” James pauses a moment, like he’s thinking, or remembering something, and seems to shake it off. 

“There was a lot there that wasn’t…wasn’t right. After two years, I ran away, and ended up on the streets. I didn’t do very well, just kind of got...more and more fucked up. Eventually I guess I ended up in this gang’s territory during a robbery or something, and they just saw this….homeless eight year old, standing there alone, and took me in. Started grooming me to be a part of the gang. That was the Water Warriors.”

James pauses, and Steven is glad because it takes him a second to absorb that. That James had—Jesus, he was  _ eight?  _ Steven had been twice that, at least, when he started in this mess of an industry, and it takes a little effort to start listening again, but he has to because James has started speaking again.

“I kind of grew up with them, after that. I’d been so desperate for a family, and it just...fell in my lap, just like that. I think I’d have done anything to keep it, so I did. Just did whatever they wanted and they kept me around. Didn’t talk too much, or listen to things I shouldn’t hear. Like, seen and not heard and stuff.”

It’s weird, for Steven, seeing James this...vulnerable. This unstable. It’s got to be weirder for him to be that way. 

“I learned really quickly how to act. Not to be too happy, or too sad, or too anything else. Just to do what I was told and nothing else.

“I spent...about eight years, doing some homeschooling so I wouldn’t be useless, some dumb stuff around the base ‘cause they don’t let eight year olds do real gang stuff out of principal and also they’re useless, and then when I was fifteen they threw me in with a bunch of new recruits for initiation.”

James pauses, swallows. He suggested this, Steven knows, but he still seems scared of the outcome. Or, no, maybe scared to remember? Either way, Steven...well, Steven wishes he could do something, change something, and he’s tired enough that he doesn’t know what but he does know that he doesn’t like the idea that there had been a long period of time in which James wasn’t happy. _ Maybe he still isn’t, _ he realizes, and likes that thought even less.

James clears his throat, taking a deep breath, and with a little effort Steven pulls himself out of his thoughts again.

“It’s….it’s a long story, but I failed initiation, I guess. Badly. And they kicked me out and told me not to come back.” He looks away. “I eventually joined SourceFed after that—“

“You joined SourceFed?” Steven asks, because something about that should ring a bell. He hadn’t recognized him, definitely, and he didn’t know everyone in the gang, but he….well, he still feels like he should have known. 

James smiles, and there’s something bordering on bitter in it for a moment. “Yeah, dude. You interviewed me when everything went down.”

He’d interviewed him. That’s a weird thought, that James knew him before he was...whatever this is now. Before all that had happened. Back when he was still  _ Steven Suptic _ , always capital, always emphasized, and always next to  _ Reina Scully _ .

James continues. “When Cib hired me, and we started expanding...the Water Warriors have territory around here, dealers, and probably more since I left. I don’t really know what’s theirs anymore. I thought that it...maybe had been them, and...if it was...I could have stopped it. Warned you. Done something about it.” He stops, looks at Steven. “And that’s it.”

It takes a moment to sink in, the weight of all of that, and then Steven remembers that he has to participate in this fucked up show-and-tell, too, and bites back a groan, and then a yawn.

“They’re good secrets,” he says eventually, stalling. “Good gossip. Hot, uh, tea.” 

“You’re stalling,” James says, because he’s not an idiot, and there’s a sudden gentleness in his tone, and when Steven looks at him it’s in his eyes, too, and something about it makes Steven feel just a little better about telling him. He takes a deep breath, tries to stabilize himself.

“There’s not—there’s really just one secret, I guess.” He looks away, because suddenly he really doesn’t want to see how James reacts. James, who just told him that he knew him before all of this happened. Who can probably see exactly how far he is from who he was. 

“After SourceFed, I was a hooker,” he says, and waits for the reaction.

He ends up waiting for a few moments, and then looks back when James is silent. There’s nothing on James’ face but that same gentleness, something encouraging in it. Something that keeps whittling away at the fear.

He swallows heavily and looks back at the floor. “I handled information, and stuff, at SourceFed, but you can’t really, uh, transfer that? No one hires you if you sell your old info, because if you’ve sold once, you’ll sell again.” He stops and takes in a deep breath. “So I didn’t have a...a backup, I guess. I didn’t have anything.”

Steven sighs, leans back into the couch and sits back up because he  _ will _ fall asleep, and he almost wants to, because remembering this, telling someone this, is...well, just as humiliating as he thought it would be.

“It took a month. I was at some bar on Waterside, the same one we hired you in, when this guy came up and tried to take me home and I realized  _ hey, I can make a living off of this _ . And I didn’t—there weren’t really any other options. So I did.” He can’t bring himself to look at James, or really do anything other than stare at the corner of the room where a small spider is building a web.

“I’m—I thought that I’d be fine, but it’s just—it’s really not the sex, y’know? That’s not—what gets to you.” Steven takes a breath, wills his voice to stop shaking, shakes off what he can of the tired static in his brain. “It’s the fact that there’s...no one. There’s no one but you. The police don’t care if some other street hooker goes missing. The local gangs don’t care. The bar owners don’t care. Nobody cares. Anyone can do—anyone can just do anything to you, hit you or fucking rip you off, and there’s only you to stop them. And you can’t. You can’t.” He can’t hide the bitterness in his voice, then.

Steven sighs, wipes his eyes, before turning back to James. “That’s my secret, I guess. It’s…” He trails off for a moment, yawning. “Pretty pathetic, I guess. For who I used to be.”

James expression doesn’t change, but in the silence that follows, Steven can see in his eyes that something clicks. He doesn’t like that, the fact that there are parts of his behavior that this explains, but he knows that there are and that there really isn’t much that he can do about it.

Steven has never been open about his feelings at the best of times, not on a regular basis, and everyone always told him that talking about it helped. If that was true, why did he  _ still _ feel so...used? Broken? Something like that. God, he’s tired.

James puts his hand on Steven’s arm, and it’s not sudden, but he still jumps.

“You aren’t so different, you know,” he says, and that’s confusing enough on its own, but then he continues. “From who you ‘used to be’.”

“I’m a mess, James,” he can’t stop himself from saying, but James only shakes his head. 

“You just infiltrated a warehouse--yes, you, dude, I barely did anything--with just a handgun. There’s…” James seems to think for a moment. “There’s a look in your eyes. That you had when you interviewed me. I didn’t see it when you guys first hired me, but I saw it looking for Cib.” 

And it’s pathetic, it’s  _ pathetic _ that even the thought that someone could think he has that, that someone doesn’t think Steven’s as fucked up as he thinks he is, could bring him to the verge of tears. But it does, and James can tell, and it’s humiliating but for some reason James just squeezes his arm once and lets go. He’ll blame it on the sleep deprivation, later, if he asks.

When he starts to speak again, he’s interrupted by Andrew coming from the bedroom. 

“You can go see him now,” is all he says, but that’s all they need. 

***

Andrew is a blessing. Any open cuts are dressed, now, and he left them with strict instructions to make Cib sit still enough for his ribs to heal. Maybe that will be an issue later, but for now he seems content with lying in bed doped up on whatever painkiller is sitting in a bottle on his bedside table.

“You’re here!” Cib says, drawing out the ‘e’, and Steven smiles despite himself, wiping at his face again. Whatever had changed Cib’s demeanor earlier must have worn off, or at least is starting to, and that settles something in Steven that hadn’t calmed down since his argument with James. It’s easy, it’s so easy to just lie down beside him, and maybe that’s actually because he’s exhausted and lying down feels good anyway but Cib is back, Cib is safe, Cib is okay, Cib is Cib again and Steven is  _ tired _ .

Cib smiles, and for a moment he looks just as exhausted, in his eyes, before he sees James and brightens up again. 

“You rescued me, it was like--as if--” And he looks like he’s trying to find the right analogy, but he never quite does, just settles on huffing and putting his arm around Steven while James stands awkwardly nearby. 

Steven’s falling asleep already, and he knows that Cib’s got to be on his way, but even after so much tension with James, it doesn’t feel right without both of his boys. 

(That’s the sleep deprivation, too. He’s not sappy. He sure doesn’t call them  _ his boys _ , or consider them  _ his _ at all.)

“What are you waiting for?” he asks, and it comes out more ‘ _ wha’re you watifor _ ’ before he picks his head up so he doesn’t fall asleep immediately, but he thinks he gets the message across. James makes a confused little noise and then Cib is nodding, agreeing. 

“Come here, James, sleep deprivation is even worse for your body than vaping, ” Cib says, and okay, maybe it hasn’t worn off, but the words are slurred a little and that’s somehow reassuring.

James hesitates a moment, as if he’s scared to intrude, before sitting on the edge of the bed. Cib just huffs, reaching up and pulling him down by the shoulders until he’s lying down with them both, and, okay, now  _ that _ feels right.

There’s silence for a few moments before something seems to shift for a moment.

“You were arguing,” Cib says, a sudden sobriety in his voice. “I heard yelling.” 

Steven wishes he hadn’t, doesn’t know how to explain what or why, but James does, apparently.    
  
“We were. But we’re good now,” he says, and of course James is good at this, James is good at most things.

And Cib hesitates a moment, but then relaxes and just nods, seemingly placated, and of course Steven had forgotten that Cib never asks for the how, the why. He takes things as they are, doesn’t try to crack them open to see what they were the way that Steven does. The way that James does.

He lays his head down again, lets his eyes shut,  _ finally _ , and lets himself press close to Cib, lets himself have this, if even only for now when he can blame it on something.

Now that he can actually relax, without being worrying about Cib’s immediate wellbeing or worrying about James’ past or worrying about humiliating himself, now that they’re all three together and warm and  _ not in danger _ , it’s much harder to find reasons to stay awake, and actually just harder to stay awake.

“Quit worrying so loudly,” he hears Cib say distantly and it’s probably to James, but he murmurs something agreeable enough anyway and then he’s gone. 


	5. Denouement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 really doesn't like line spacing in imports from google drive. It's particularly bad this time around, so apologies in advance.

Cib gets restless after two days, and that’s when the real job begins. Steven wonders if it was this hard a couple months ago in Idyllwild, and as Cib insists he’s  _ fine _ for the sixth time, he decides that, no, it wasn’t.

“Cib, you have  _ bruised ribs _ , stop it--” Steven says, pulling Cib back down, and he doesn’t have any sympathy left for the way he winces a bit at the jolt. 

  
Okay. He’s got a little. But not enough to stop him from acknowledging that Cib did this to himself.   
  
“I’m--” Cib starts, as soon as he can, and Steven sighs because if he hears ‘fine’ one more time he’s not going to be happy.   
  
“No, you’re  _ not _ , jesus, what will make you sit on this couch and stay here?” 

Cib starts to say something and then stops and sighs, obviously just as frustrated as Steven is.

  
“The Hannah Montana movie,” he finally says. And without another word, Steven gets up to put it in, Cib watching incredulously. “You don’t even like it!” 

  
“I like the idea of you hurting yourself even less,” Steven says, fixing him with a challenging glare, and Cib huffs, sitting back and it looks like he finally,  _ finally _ gives up. “Thank you, jesus.” 

Steven goes to sit beside him as the movie plays, because someone has to make sure he doesn’t get up and only a little bit because Steven wants him in sight for now. He glances over whenever Cib shifts, and he can’t fight a little pang of anxiety whenever he looks like he’s going to get up.

They’re only a few minutes in when Cib glances over at him, too.    
  
“Look who’s worried now,” he says, smirking slightly, and Steven huffs.

“It’s been--how many days? Two? You’ve got--”   
  
“Bruised ribs or something, yeah,” Cib interrupts, and then waits a moment before speaking a little softer, a little gentler. “You’re really worried, huh?” And something about the way he says it gives Steven pause. As if it’s an anomaly of some kind. He huffs and crosses his arms.

  
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says testily, not sure he wants the answer. Cib only shrugs.    
  


“I just didn’t know you cared so much.”  _ Fuck there is no reason he wouldn’t care about these people _ .

“There’s no reason I wouldn’t care about you,” Steven says, realizing too late he’d added ‘about you’ and then realizing he’s too frustrated with this to mind.

“You just don’t….really show it that much, dude,” Cib says, and fine, then, Steven will show it, and his mistake is that he really only thinks for about half of a second before he leans over and kisses him.

And then they’re kissing.

He feels Cib tense a little, but he doesn’t pull away, and then it hits him that they’re--actually  _ kissing _ , they’re kissing, and it feels both right and wrong in ways he can’t really describe because he’s a little distracted by the taste of faux cinnamon smoke and toothpaste. 

It doesn’t last very long before Cib pulls away, but it’s enough to leave Steven in a sort of daze because he’d forgotten that it could feel that way, that it could have something real that sent a shock up his spine and made him feel  _ good _ instead of used, and then he snaps out of it because he’d just kissed someone who’d pulled away and, more importantly, he’d just kissed  _ Cib _ and that was going to fuck things completely and, God, he’s got to apologize for this or something.

“I’m s--” Is all he can manage before Cib pulls him closer, not into another kiss but a very,  _ very _ tight hug, and when he catches a glimpse of his eyes, there’s something there that’s almost sad. 

  
“Don’t force yourself t--,” Cib says, barely a whisper, and Steven pulls himself out of his grip.    
  
“I’m  _ not _ !” he practically yells, looking Cib in the eye, and he was going to say more, but he’s caught off guard by the fact that Cib--well, Cib looks like he  _ wants _ this. There’s concern in his eyes but also a keen and familiar hope, and Steven for the first time sees this for what it is: Cib wants, he can tell, to be sure, and the fact that he was considering it at all was more than Steven was expecting, but--

  
Well, maybe he should start giving  _ Cib _ a little more credit, too.    
  
“I’m not,” Steven repeats, quieter, with more in it, and this time it’s Cib who initiates, and it’s less frustrated, less rushed, and it’s only now that he realizes the first one  _ was _ frustrated and rushed.

Steven has done this before, Steven’s been  _ paid _ to do this, but this is so different--it’s softer, it’s not going any farther and they both know it--that it feels more like he’s being led than doing the leading. He’s careful not to lean, cautious of Cib’s injuries, and Cib seems to be cautious of Steven’s at the same time, and not only the physical. This doesn’t feel like something you do for a few hours and then throw away, and Steven knows that that’s intentional, that Cib wants this to feel better than he’s used to. It’s gentle, caring, and there’s something in it that feels it  _ means _ something, something….not love, he thinks, but maybe an approximation. Whatever it is that happens when you kiss your best friend and for the first time in maybe  _ for-fucking-ever _ you feel like the world outside doesn't matter.

When Cib pulls away, he doesn’t want him to, but that’s overshadowed quickly by the fact that Steven just feels….happy, in a way that he hasn’t for a long time. There’s nothing looming over them. There’s nothing set up to ruin this. He’s nervous, but it’s excitement more than worry, and he wasn’t prepared to just feel  _ good _ . 

  
“So, are we doing this?” Cib asks, and Steven falters for a moment, because that’s the question he only used to get asked by his clients, by-- “The boyfriends thing, idiot, quit worrying.”

Of course Cib would know, of course Cib would realize. Suddenly, then, there’s really no doubt, and that’s a refreshing concept. To not be wondering about the  _ what if _ s. To know that Cib is one of the only people who can make him stop thinking through all the negative possibilities.

(He doesn’t think about the other and how he isn’t here. Now’s not the time for that.)

“I’d, uh, yes,” he says, and Cib only pulls him close as a response.

He can’t stop the wide smile spreading across his face, and he can’t stop how it gets even wider at Cib’s look of surprised awe.  

“You should smile like that more often,” Cib says, smiling himself, and Steven laughs a little.    
  
“Maybe I will,” he says, and means it.

***

Nothing changes, but everything changes, and there’s a kind of bright veil over everything for a few days that makes it seem a little brighter than before. Cib doesn’t become less or more Cib, and Steven doesn’t really do anything different, but the knowledge that they’re doing the boyfriends thing, that Steven is...well,  _ wanted _ , as a person and not a toy, keeps happiness bubbling up from somewhere in his chest whenever he remembers. 

They don’t do anything typically romantic. Cib doesn’t initiate anything major, no kisses, and Steven is glad and he feels respected because  _ Cib cares about him, _ and that still makes him feel something close to giddy. It’s stupid that something as simple as a word could change everything, but it does, and though Steven had gotten accustomed to Cib’s constant contact, it feels new again now that he’s sure he knows what it means. 

(It’s really the first time in a long time that he’s noticed physical contact in a positive way. Not noticed and didn’t want, or noticed and didn’t care, but noticed and happy that it was there. It’s nice, and this newfound shimmer seems to be willing to let him admit that.

The only thing that tarnishes whatever this shiny feeling is is the fact that, through some unspoken agreement, they haven’t told James yet, and the fact that telling him puts a bad feeling in Steven’s gut. Something like guilt, and that train of thought leads to the wrong side of the tracks, the side that says  _ you have Cib, why isn’t that enough?  _ And Cib _ is _ enough, Cib is wonderful and more than enough, but... )

Steven and Cib are cuddling--and that’s a word he can use now, something he can want now--on the couch a few days after, James out on a job, when Cib invites him on their first real date. 

  
“So, how ya feel about eatin’ shit?” Cib asks.

“I mean, I--I’d hope we’d pick something better, but sure,” Steven says, because that sounds nice, and fuck, they’re  _ dating _ .

“Shit’n’sauce sound good? Diablo?” Cib asks, and gets up when Steven nods. “I’ll get dressed.”

Then he leans down and kisses Steven on the cheek, and that should feel good, he should like that but suddenly he’s not there anymore, he’s in a different apartment on a different couch with someone else and he’s not kissing, just being kissed and he can’t stop because he needs the money, and he knows what’s coming next and he can’t stop it, he’s not in control, he’s  _ not _ in control and--

And Cib’s hand is on his shoulder, his finger making small circles, and it’s enough to pull him out of whatever the hell that was. He anchors himself to that, breathes until he’s back. 

  
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I--I thought I was over this, I was, I  _ was _ over this, I should be--” And then Cib’s shushing him, squeezing a little where his hand still rests, and Steven realizes that he’s so panicked and frustrated with himself that he’s almost in tears. It’s the first time he’s been on the receiving end, and he didn’t expect it, and  _ God _ he wishes that he wasn’t so screwed up.

“When you’re ready, dude,” Is all he says, and it manages to convey so much more, and that flutter Steven’s been feeling for the past couple days seems to perk up just a little. “Wanna just order in?” Cib asks, after Steven’s able to calm down, and Steven shakes his head.

“No, I--go get dressed, I’m fine.”

Cib nods, leaves, and Steven can’t help looking after him with a small smile, and then a larger one when Cib catches him watching and wiggles his eyebrows.

  
This could be more than just good for him, he thinks, and lets himself think so.

***

That shiny new relationship feel doesn’t go away, and maybe it’s not a new relationship feel. Maybe it’s just happiness in a way that Steven hasn’t felt for a long time. Either way, he likes it, and for the first time it doesn’t feel too good to be true, just good.

James is back from a particularly long job, and they’re all three on the couch together with Cib in the middle like always. Steven’s resting his head on Cib’s shoulder, sharing a blanket, and if Cib’s resting his hand on Steven’s leg underneath it he doesn’t complain.

The movie ends, and Cib and James have been bickering about something the entire time and they don’t stop during the credits. It’s friendly, lighthearted, and Steven can’t help but just watch. 

“I will send you back to the Canadian wilderness where I birthed you,” he tunes in just in time to hear, and that gives him pause because it’s just so  _ absurd _ , and then he’s laughing, so hard he can’t breathe, and he can’t remember the last time he thought something was so funny. Maybe it’s because he’s tired, or relaxed, or drunk on whatever he feels when Cib looks back at him, but he feels _ free _ right now, and it’s hard to stop laughing until he realizes that Cib and James have gone silent.

He cuts himself off quickly, then, looks away, worried that--well, he doesn’t know about what, but he’s worried. 

He clears his throat.   
  
“I--” he begins, to apologize or just to do  _ something _ .

“Dude,” Cib interrupts, and when he looks up James and Cib are wearing nearly identical expressions with. Something like awe? Something happy, if the smile spreading across James’ face is anything to go by, and that eases some of the anxiety. Then Cib pulls him into a tight hug, and laughs, and that eases the rest of it.    
  
“What?” he asks, smiling a little at Cib’s excitement, and Cib only pulls back enough to tap his nose. 

  
“I’ve never heard you laugh before, idiot,” Cib says, and Steven can feel himself doing something that’s not blushing, not at all.

Then James makes a small sound, and when Steven looks over he looks almost stricken, as if he’s realized something and didn’t like it. Even as he watches, James’ face flattens into the mask it usually is before he speaks.    
  
“So, wait, are you two--” He cuts himself off, makes a little motion with his fingers, and Cib turns, nodding.    
  
“Yeah, dude!” he says, smiling, and something about James seems to stiffen for a moment before he leans back onto the couch. Steven knows James well enough to see that any trace of the happiness from before has been covered underneath a carefully crafted exterior, and he knows Cib well enough to know that he noticed, too.

That same guilt that rises whenever he thinks about telling James is back, and he can’t shake the feeling that James doesn’t approve. He doesn’t like it, likes it even less when James says that he has some things he needs to get from his apartment and leaves for the night.

***

A night turns into a day, and a day turns into two, and then it’s been a week and James hasn’t come back, not for jobs or to hang out or even to come get anything out of the apartment. Steven had gotten worried after a few days, and even Cib had seemed concerned after five, and now they’re driving to James’ apartment.

“Why do you think--” Steven starts to ask, and stops, because he’s had time to think of multiple reasons and he doesn’t want to focus on any of them. Doesn’t want to think that James was disgusted or uncomfortable or felt like he wasn’t wanted. Cib looks over, doesn’t reply until they’re in James’ hallway, standing outside the door to 2A. 

Metal music is playing so loudly that they have to call James and tell him to get the door, and when he does he looks...tired. His hair is tousled, like it hasn’t been brushed in a while, and he’s in just a tank top and a pair of basketball shorts.    
  
“What’s up?” he says, and it’s low, flat, more like a statement then a question, and something in Steven’s chest seems to fracture a little. 

“We haven’t seen you in, like, forever, dude,” Cib says, and James only looks away and opens the door so they can come in. 

His apartment looks the same as it always has, actually, and it’s not spotless but it’s not trashed, either. He’s got his Star Wars game open and paused, and the only real difference in now and all the other times they’ve come over is--

  
“Dude, you got a dog!” Cib says, leaning down to meet the scrap of blonde fur bounding towards them. James perks up a little at that, smiles and leans down to ruffle the fur near his collar. 

  
“His name’s Vinny and I’d die for him,” James says, and then Cib looks back at Steven and, more importantly,  _ Vinny _ looks at Steven, and Steven decides right there and then that he’d die for this puppy, too.    
  
“James,” Steven says, and he’s on the floor with his hands buried in Vinny’s fur, “how dare you. He’s perfect. Are you trying to replace Cib or something?”

James laughs a little, and some kind of spark seems to flare in his eyes. Something warm. And then he seems to remember something and it dies again, transforms back into that mask that Steven realizes he’s unused to seeing now, and Steven frowns when James speaks. “No. I, uh, well. I’m not exactly gonna be at the apartment as much now, so I just. Wanted a little company around here.”

  
That sends alarm bells ringing, because Steven isn’t sure he knows what he wants but he knows that  _ it’s not that. _

“Wait, I--What, why? Is it--Cib and I--?” And if he’s talking a little too fast, it’s because whatever this thing is that makes him so happy, James is a part of it, too, and he’s not letting this tear itself apart. He won’t. He can’t.

Cib looks alarmed, too, and he straightens up like he’s been shocked. 

James’ eyes widen as he looks between them and he quickly says, “Nonono, it’s not you. Definitely not you. Well, uh, it kinda is you, but not, like, in a bad way!”

“I just--I don’t see how that can--” Steven starts to say, but James interrupts, something guilty about the way he’s standing.    
  
“No, dude, it’s not like that, it’s just. I didn’t...I didn’t want to intrude, you know?” 

There’s silence for a moment, save for Vinny’s claws tapping the floor as he runs from person to person.    
  
“We miss you, dude,” Cib finally says, and James looks up in surprise. “We miss you a lot, actually.” 

“Yeah the apartment’s not the same, it’s really…” Steven clears his throat, his face hot. “It’s really lonely.” Because it _ is _ . It doesn’t feel right when there’s only two people in it, when James isn’t up in the morning with coffee or challenging Cib’s more inane suggestions. Everything feels toned down, to some extent, and Steven doesn’t like it and he knows that Cib feels the same.

James doesn’t respond, looking almost like he doesn’t really know how, and that’s something Steven can get. The hesitance to believe that people want you around. But this time he’s on the other side, trying to convince instead of being convinced, and he doesn’t know how. 

  
James shuffles his feet. “Well, y’know, I--”    
  
“You’re a key component to everything that happens in the business,” Cib interrupts, quietly, and it sounds surprisingly genuine even to Steven. “And everything else.” And James  _ really _ doesn’t know what to say to that one, and he looks away, and Steven can only hope he believes them. 

James sighs. “I...” His face is red, almost the same color as the symbol on his tv, and he’s watching Vinny’s attempts at trying to get onto the couch. He’s too small, but that isn’t stopping him. “You...I--I-- _ fuck _ .” 

Steven, very suddenly, is hit by a wave of deja vu. Not for the situation that he’s in, but from what it looks like, how  _ he’s _ been in the situation that  _ James _ is in--he has to know, by now, that they care about him, but...the belief is harder. The trust is harder. Letting yourself get comfortable is harder, and Steven finds the words he’s been missing this whole time.    
  
“I know that it’s. Not easy. It wasn’t--it’s not easy for me, yet. But I know that--that it felt better, when I started...when I let myself trust that I had a place with you and Cib.” He takes a breath, and maybe his face is red, and maybe he hasn’t thought this through, fully, but he looks up and meets James’ eyes. “And you have a place with us, too. If...if you want it.” Cib looks at Steven for a moment, and then turns back to James and nods, and Steven only hopes he’s read him right. 

James only looks between him and Cib, confused, until the meaning of what Steven’s said sets in.   
  
“Oh,” is all he says. “ _ Oh _ .”

“He’s right, dude,” Cib adds after a moment, and Steven could kiss him from the wave of relief he gets that he hasn’t stepped out of line. And if James accepts, it won’t just be Cib that he’s kissing, and the nervousness is still there in the silence but the guilt is gone and the worry that he’ll find out is gone and  _ God _ , he just hopes that he wasn’t wrong.

“Look, I, uh, thanks?” James stammers, still blushing, still looking away. “But you don’t have to, like, uh, it’s fine! You two are more than fine, I’m fine, Vinny’s fine, and...yeah, I don’t...I don’t want to get in the way--”

“You _ idiot _ , you wouldn’t be,” Cib says, standing up and getting close enough to James that even Steven can feel the intensity. His voice is low and determined when he speaks next. “Do you want this?” he asks.

There’s a long pause.    
  
“ _ Yes, _ ” James says, so softly Steven is more lip-reading the word than hearing it, but he can catch that there’s something fragile in his voice, and Cib smiles, moving away.    
  
“Well why didn’t you just say so, idiot?” 

And it takes a moment, but when James smiles again, Steven’s swept away by a rush of happiness so intense that he can barely believe he heard him correctly.

“Great! So that’s settled. Come back. Bring Vinny,” he says, and he can’t keep the joy from his voice. If James and Cib notice, he’s surprised to find he doesn’t mind at all.

***

James does bring Vinny, he brings Vinny and a bunch of other things that he’d had at his apartment so he wouldn’t have to go back for them. He’s stayed over often enough that he’s practically got his own closet space already, and putting in other things felt less like finding space and more like settling back into something that had been disrupted. 

They’re on the couch, again, because when are they not, and Steven is content just to listen to Cib and James bicker, interjecting occasionally.

“Look, all I’m  _ saying _ is that if you drink water, you’re a water vampire,” Cib is saying. James pauses for a moment.

“We’re all water vampires, dude--”

  
“Water vampires aren’t  _ real _ , idiot.”   
  
“No, they’re not, because they’re called  _ humans _ .”

“I don’t drink water--”   
  
“Cib, we’re made of water,” Steven says, and Cib is apparently ready for that exact statement.    
  
“I drink sunlight, dude,” he says, and out of all his incoherencies this is in the top five. James starts to say something a few times, stops, and takes a breath.   
  
“Cib, what’s eighty percent of your body--” 

  
“ _ Dead _ , idiot--” And it just continues like that for a while, the movie completely ignored, and it reminds Steven how much he’d missed this, even for the brief week it was gone. That this kind of happiness and ease was something that was normal for him, now, and that that doesn’t scare him anymore, doesn’t put him on guard as if it’s the price he pays before something happens to take it away. The fear is still there, but it’s less constant, only resurfaces when he’s alone in the dark after hours of lying awake. And with two people he cares about--who care about  _ him _ \--that happens less often, too.

That night, James falls asleep on Cib’s shoulder and Cib does the same against James. Vinny’s spread across the three of them, and every now and then he twitches in his sleep.

  
For the founders of a crime ring, they’re surprisingly domestic, Steven thinks, and he can’t fight a small laugh. Cib opens his eyes a little at the noise, holds out his arm, and Steven’s happy to tuck himself underneath it and rest his head on Cib’s chest. Cib closes his eyes again, and his breathing evening out soon enough, and Steven’s hit again by a wave of disbelief. Not the kind that tells him that this will go away, but the kind that makes him wonder how he ever got so lucky.

When he wakes up the next morning, Cib’s gotten up and James is already, but barely, awake, just staring at him with a small smile. 

“Did you have a good sleepover?” Steven asks, smiling himself, his voice rough from sleep. He yawns in the middle, but James just smiles wider.

“I did, dude. It was fun,” he replies, sounding not very woken up himself, and Steven can’t help the burst of affection that swells up in his chest.    
  
“Man, I missed you, dude,” he says after a moment, and James smiles a little wider before looking away. He’s worried for a moment, but then James looks back, and something in his eyes looks happier than he’s ever seen him. Steven reaches out, intertwines James’ fingers with his own. “It’s good having you back.” 

“It’s good having  _ you _ \--” James says, and cuts himself off, blushing. “It’s, um, it’s good to be back,” he continues, and it sounds genuine, it sounds  _ happy _ , and Steven loves that they’ve made James so happy. That  _ they’ve _ made  _ Steven  _ so happy. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he just woke up, or maybe for the first time in so, so long he doesn’t need to blame or justify or pick apart his emotions until he knows the source. But he _ is _ happy, he’s happy in ways he wasn’t sure he would ever feel, that he wasn’t sure he’d let himself live long enough to see, and it’s only because Cib picked him up in some bar by mistaking him for a negotiator. 

Cib comes back from the kitchen, then, sits on the arm of the couch and takes his other hand, and his heart swells again. His boys are here, they’re here and they’re _ his _ and he’s theirs, and he’s got concrete evidence that he’s loved, and he knows that people change, and that things happen, but for the first time in--well, ever, really, he’s certain that they’re going to be okay. 

He looks from Cib to James, tightens his grip on their hands and pulls them closer, and for a moment that feels like a million years, everything feels _ right _ .

***

A lot of things change, over the next couple months. Parker “leaves”, Jeremy and Andrew leave soon afterwards. Autumn comes to fill their place, and so does Devin, for a time. What was a smaller ring grows into something with territory, and contacts, and a following, and, when they meet with GF, he turns out to be Gavin Free, who looks them over and smiles before he passes them off to Geoff Ramsey and the Roosters. From that they earn an alliance, and the right to replace “sugar” with “fake”.

They meet with Fake Chop, Fakehaus, the original Fakes. Sami Jo enters the picture as a mercenary, and Alfredo becomes their go-to for financial management, even if he uses insects as currency. They find Mimi, who’s still looking for a job from SourceFed, and she quickly partners with a famous contact in the white-collar world who, to avoid confusion with James, they call James Allen McCune, when devolves eventually into Jamie. They relocate somewhere bigger, and they start running things from a permanent office location rather than just their apartment. Someone cuts the brake lines in Steven’s coupe, and he walks away with neither a scratch nor a car.

  
Vinny grows up into a dog a third of Steven’s height. Steven starts meeting up with Reina. Alfredo gets rejected by multiple people, multiple times. They get a fish. The fish dies. 

Cib and James stay. They all fight sometimes, push too far and miscommunicate and poke and prod and hit each other’s insecurities, but it never gets the better of them. Steven still can’t handle much physical contact, James still draws into himself sometimes, and Cib still worries, but they never stop trying, never stop shifting and compromising and adapting, and they never stop getting closer.

  
Steven knows they’re not perfect. They’re not any semblance of perfect, and they may not even be good, and actually, no, they’re almost definitely  _ not _ good. But they’re there, and they’re trying, and whenever they change they try to change together. What was once something new develops into something ironclad, what used to be  _ like _ grows into something Steven is comfortable accepting as  _ love _ . 

  
They live, and they live  _ together _ , and if it’s not the life he expected he would have, Steven doesn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! That's that! Thank you guys so much for staying with the fic up to here. You can expect another work from wooz and I hopefully soon, and you can expect oneshots and other things in this universe maybe added on as a separate fic in this series! We realized while writing that Steven's perspective wasn't the most interesting in some sections, and that there were a lot of things that we're interested in that Steven didn't care much about. So, yeah. Expect some James POV oneshots of existing events and some brand new stuff that happened before or after or somewhere in between. 
> 
> Thanks, you guys. This is my first real fic. It means a lot. <3


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